Chapter 4

D on’t encourage Sir Giffard, lass,” Hugo said as he shut the door behind the other two, making Sidony wonder if he had meant Sir Giffard to hear the warning.

“I don’t encourage anyone,” she said.

“True enough,” he said. “But you are not always very wise, are you?”

“I did not mean to get lost, sir, or to be away so long.”

“You know that is not what I mean. What demon possessed you to wander alone into the abbey woods?”

Although she did not like anyone to be displeased with her, she met his stern gaze without difficulty. “I get tired of being always with other people,” she said. “The woods are peaceful and quiet. They belong to the Kirk, after all.”

“Even so,” he said.

“But who would harm me there, knowing God must be watching them?”

“You left the woods with a man you did not even know,” he pointed out.

“But you know him,” she said. “Isobel said you sent for him.”

“Aye, but you did not know that then.” More brusquely, he added, “Or did he dare to impose on you by claiming friendship with me?”

“Nay,” she said, remembering. “He told me he had met you, but that only made him more determined to bring me straight back here.”

“I see,” he said. Whether he did or not, he cast no more blame on Sir Giffard but went on instead to describe her lack of judgment in most uncivil terms.

Sidony listened respectfully, and when he had said all he wanted to say, she said quietly, “I am very sorry to have upset everyone, sir.”

“I don’t want to hear of your ever doing such a thing again.”

“No, sir.”

“Good lass,” he said, patting her shoulder. “We’ll go in to supper now, before Lady Clendenen comes looking for us. I can hear them gathering.”

Relieved to have it over, she obeyed with alacrity when he opened the door and gestured for her to precede him.

They found the others in the great chamber with its stone walls and beamed ceiling. The linen-draped table and the dais on which it sat at the south end were smaller than those of other places where Sidony had lived during her year in Midlothian, although the table was still larger than required for the six people gathered there. Nevertheless, the great chamber was comfortable and boasted a fireplace that shared its chimney with the one in the vaulted kitchen below the house. So, although throughout the winter her ladyship frequently grumbled that the chamber was too chilly for comfort, it felt pleasantly warm now.

Isobel began to assure them that she and Lady Clendenen had just arrived themselves, but Sidony’s gaze moved to Sir Giffard standing by Rob near the fire. When Giff smiled, she looked quickly away. When she looked again, Rob had engaged his attention to present him to their hostess.

Hugo touched Sidony’s elbow, guiding her toward the table.

A narrow screen passage along the east wall contained the buttery and pantry as well as concealing the servants’ wall stair to the kitchen and the three upper floors. The dais table bore pewter goblets and platters, polished wooden trenchers at each place, a basket of manchet loaves, and a wine jug. Two back stools occupied each long side of the table with armchairs at head and foot, and a large carving board stood ready for the roast lamb at the pantry entrance.

Two tables for her ladyship’s servants occupied space away from the dais.

“We’re an odd assortment tonight, are we not?” Ealga, Lady Clendenen, observed as she moved to stand by her chair. “I am very pleased, though, that you all are here with me.” A plump, personable woman in her fiftieth summer, she suffered—often vocally—from a lack of height but boasted smooth, fair skin and a ready smile that appeared as she turned to Sir Giffard.

“You may sit at my right hand, sir, if you will,” she said. “Rob, dear, take the place beside him. Isobel and Sidony will sit across from you, and Hugo, pray be so obliging as to take the chair at the foot of the table and say the grace-before-meat.”

Hugo obeyed without comment, after which everyone took seats. Her ladyship signed to her carver to serve the meat, informed everyone that the fine salmon on the fish platter was the one Sidony had caught, and then added, “Now, my dear Sir Giffard, do tell us all about yourself.”

His visibly startled reaction tickled Sidony’s sense of humor, but as Hugo was probably still annoyed with her, she hoped her amusement did not show. To her surprise, it was Hugo who intervened, saying, “I doubt you want to know all about him, madam. He is as known for daft, impulsive behavior as for aught else. But as Rob may have told you, Giff is here at my invitation, and Michael’s.”

“No, Rob did not tell me that,” her ladyship said with a glance at that gentleman, who seemed interested only in the gillie who leaned past her ladyship as she spoke to fill her goblet with claret. The lad, clearly aware that she was prone to sudden movements, kept a careful eye on her and managed his task without accident. Two other lads moved from place to place, offering bowls and platters of side dishes as the carver piled meat on trenchers his assistant handed to him.

Impulsively, Sidony said, “Sir Giffard comes from Kintail, madam, so we are practically neighbors. Are we not, sir?”

“Faith, do you know him from home then?” Lady Clendenen said as their guest shifted his gaze to Sidony. “I thought you’d met him only this afternoon.”

Recalling that little escaped her ladyship’s notice, Sidony said, “That is true, but he told me he is from Kintail. Moreover, I have heard the name MacLennan before, although I do not believe we have any living in Glenelg.”

“So whereabouts in Kintail does your family live, sir?” Lady Clendenen inquired. As he drew breath to speak, she added, “I should tell you, perhaps, that I am most inquisitive. Moreover, I shall be marrying Macleod of Glenelg in just over a month, on July the sixth. And now that I have met you, I shall want to be certain that he has thought to invite your people to the ceremony—unless,” she added with a roguish look, “you are sure he will already have done so.”

The fleeting shadow Sidony had noted earlier crossed his face again, but Sir Giffard said easily, “I have no notion one way or the other, my lady. I have scarcely been next or nigh my home in a decade.”

“As long as that? Do you not get on with your people?”

Their guest looked wary, and Rob said mildly, “She warned you that she is inquisitive, but you’ll get used to it if you spend any time in Edinburgh. I have.”

“Oh, yes,” Lady Clendenen said, nodding to another hovering gillie to serve her from a bowl of steamed cabbage. “I fear I am one whose thoughts tumble out of her mouth as she thinks them. My cousin Ardelve—may his soul rest in peace—was frequently heard to say that I had no acquaintance with tact, and I suppose that may be so. But, in troth, I accept blunt comments as easily as I offer them, so you must tell me if I overstep the mark, sir. I promise you will not offend me by doing so.”

Sidony wondered idly if that was true. In her admittedly limited experience, people who prided themselves on plain speaking rarely appreciated it when anyone else spoke plainly to them. She looked sympathetically at Sir Giffard. It could not be easy to reply to such a barrage of questions from a stranger.

But he was smiling and seemed completely at his ease.

Into that brief silence, Isobel said, “You must let me thank you for your kindness to my sister this afternoon, sir. She was fortunate to come upon a friend in the woods, when she might so easily have encountered an enemy.”

Sidony shot her an aggrieved look as Lady Clendenen exclaimed, “Mercy, Isobel, do you think enemies lurk behind the abbot’s trees? I would not choose to walk there, myself, because the drainage in those woods is so uncertain, but they are as safe as my own gardens, surely.”

Sir Giffard said, “I certainly saw no one lurking there.”

“Except yourself,” Hugo said sardonically. He went on in a more appreciative tone to say, “This lamb is excellent, madam.”

“Thank you, but you should not speak as if Sir Giffard had not done us a service, for he has, and Isobel is right to thank him. You have my thanks, as well, sir, and I am sure that Sidony has thanked you, too.”

“Aye, mayhap she did,” Isobel said, smiling at him. “But I must tell you, sir, that she still fears that, from some cause or other, you may be irked with her.”

“Her ladyship need have no fear,” he said. “Indeed, my lady, I do not know why you should imagine I was irked at all.”

“There is,” Rob murmured, helping himself for a second time from the fish platter, “the small matter of this excellent salmon. One feared it might be a bit bruised, but apparently it survived its encounter without injury.”

“Survived?” Hugo said with a grin.

Sidony looked down at her trencher, wishing they would all just disappear.

Giff noted her blushes but turned his gaze back to Lady Isobel, who still watched him quizzically. Her expression and the tilt of her head reminded him of a gull perched on a ship’s rail, hoping for a scrap. He had no intention of tossing any to her ladyship, but he could not be sure of Hugo or Rob. The latter’s comment might not have been intentionally provocative, but if it was, Giff felt certain that he, not the lady Sidony, had been Rob’s target. That Rob looked rueful now was plain evidence of that.

He had not expected Lady Isobel to drop the subject, nor did she.

“Does the salmon enter into your annoyance with Sidony, sir?” she asked demurely. “I confess I am as inquisitive as Lady Clendenen.”

“Sakes, sir, Isobel is more so,” that lady said. “But do answer her. I cannot think how a salmon could enter into a man’s ire with a woman unless she stole it from him, and I cannot imagine our Sidony doing any such uncivil thing.”

“Nor can I, madam,” Giff said. “Her ladyship caught that splendid creature before I encountered her. As to the other, I am not, nor was I then, annoyed with her in any way for any reason whatsoever.”

And if that lie perjures my immortal soul, he told himself, so be it.

He flicked a look at Lady Sidony, hoping she would reveal some small gratitude for his thoughtfulness, but she stared at her trencher and steadily ate her supper. Her wine goblet remained untouched.

Reinforcing his notion that Rob’s provocation had been unintentional, that gentleman tore his attention from his food long enough to introduce a more general topic. Conversation became desultory until some time after they had finished eating, when Hugo said, “I’m thinking we should be on our way soon, lads. We can discuss things more whilst we ride. You can house Giff at Lestalric, can you not, Rob?”

“Aye, sure, and I presume that you will also sleep there.”

“I will tonight. Tomorrow I must get back to Hawthornden, though, or soon after I do get there, I’ll find my head in my lap.”

Giff grinned. “Is your wife so fierce? I own, if she is, I look forward to meeting her.”

Hugo grinned right back as he said, “You may hope.”

“We should leave, too, Sidony,” Lady Isobel said.

“We’ll go with you,” Hugo said, “and see you safely inside Sinclair House.”

“Thank you, but I must first collect Will and his nurse. He’s been fussing a good deal of late, so it may take a while, and I know you want to be on your way. One of her ladyship’s gillies can easily—”

“We’ll wait, lass,” Hugo said. “We’re not in such a hurry as that. Lestalric is less than two miles away, so take as long as you like with the bairn.”

As they all stood, Giff watched Lady Sidony, noting how much quieter she was than the others, and how serene—much more so than the other two women, who seemed to chatter nonstop with each other and with the men.

She held back as everyone moved toward the stair-hall doorway, so he let Rob and Hugo go ahead of him, following the other two ladies. Just as he was congratulating himself on a deft maneuver, however, Sidony murmured that she had forgotten her eating knife and turned back toward the table.

Knowing that Hugo would notice if he followed her, he caught up with the men instead and murmured, “Hugo, whereabouts is the . . . ?”

“Behind us,” Hugo said. “Go through the little solar at the southwest corner of this chamber, and you’ll find steps leading to the garden. The garderobe is to the east before you reach the shed. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks,” he said. He half expected Hugo to realize Sidony had gone the same way, but Hugo had rejoined Rob and the two were turning into the parlor as if the lass had slipped right out of their minds.

Wondering if she might be seeking the privacy of the garderobe herself, he hurried to catch sight of her and observed with relief through a window of the solar that she was walking along a path down the center of the garden.

He did visit the garderobe first, as much to keep her from realizing that he had followed her as from a need to relieve himself. Then he strolled into the garden, noting that the sky had cleared of all but a few drifting clouds. The sun had dipped a good portion of its lower half behind the horizon of housetops to the west, splashing its fading rays upward to paint the clouds every shade of pink, orange, and rose.

For a moment, with the sun in his eyes, he lost sight of the lass and wondered if she had dared to slip into the woods again. Then he saw that she had stopped close to a tree at the bottom of the garden to watch the sunset.

When his footsteps crunched on the pebbled path, she turned and soberly watched his approach. The sun’s rays gilded her from top to toe.

“I see that I’m not the only one who wanted fresh air,” he said when he was near enough to speak without raising his voice.

“You followed me,” she said.

He opened his mouth to deny it, to insist that he had come innocently in search of the garderobe and happened to see her. But he could not, so he smiled instead and said, “I did. I wanted to further our acquaintance. Art vexed with me?”

“Nay, although I warrant Hugo warned you to keep your distance.”

“Aye, just as he warned you not to encourage me.”

She smiled. “You did hear that. I wondered if he meant you to.”

“Certainly, he did.”

“Are you truly not afraid of him? He has a fearsome temper, as you must know, for you told me yourself that he knocked you down the last time you met.”

“He won’t do so again,” Giff said.

“You sound very confident of that. I must say I am glad you did not tell him why I struck you. And thank you, too,” she added, “for not telling Isobel about it.”

He frowned. “Would Hugo strike you?”

“He never has, but he does scold rather fiercely. If I were a man, it would be different, though, I’m sure, so I don’t understand why you think you need not fear his anger.” She tilted her head as she added, “Is it because he sent for you? Why did he, and why did you not tell me that he had?”

“’Tis men’s business,” he said. “Moreover, it is not my habit to discuss even my business with every pretty lass I meet.”

Her eyes widened. “Do you meet so many?”

He chuckled. “Dozens a day, but not many who would look as beautiful as you do tonight in that gown. It suits you, lass. You should wear it often.”

Color flooded her cheeks. “Why do you say such things to me?”

“Because they are true,” he said, gazing into her eyes. Her pupils were enormous, her pale blue irises nearly invisible. As light as they were, they seemed to meld with the whites, fascinating him all over again.

Her mouth was rosy pink and bow-shaped. She dampened her lips—full, soft-looking, enticing lips—and his body stirred lustfully in response.

Sidony did not know what to make of him, but energy crackled from him, making her feel hot and a little dizzy when he stood as close as he was now. Her nerves tingled, and she felt as if she should reach out a hand, but whether to fend him off or draw him nearer, she could not be sure.

He was big, loose-limbed, and broad-shouldered, the sort of man one knew instinctively could protect a woman and do many other things well. And as brash as he was, he seemed to care nothing for what others thought of him, as if he were content to be who he was no matter what anyone said to or about him. He had not even apologized for sitting down in the leather breeks and jack-o’-plate he had worn for two days of riding to have supper with Lady Clendenen—faith, with all of them.

His shirt was white enough to make her nearly certain he must have put on a fresh one not long before they had met, but perhaps he was merely tidy in his habits and had not got it dirty. Even so, he had not mentioned his clothing before dinner or afterward, as most gentlemen would have done under similar circumstances. Nor did he seem bothered by it now.

Another thought occurred to her. Perhaps he had no proper town clothes. Perhaps in Galloway men did not sport finery. But Rob had kinsmen there, and Rob rarely wore anything but finery. Of course, she reminded herself, Rob was nearly as wealthy as the Sinclairs. Perhaps Sir Giffard was poor.

She realized with a start that as her thoughts had darted hither and yon, he had continued to stare at her in that odd, hungry way, making her feel his interest all the way to her toes. She ought to step back, she knew, to put more distance between them, but as the thought entered her head, he reached for her.

His large hands grasped her upper arms, and he drew her gently toward him and kissed her softly on the lips.

“Giff! You out there?”

“That’s Hugo,” she murmured, recognizing the voice.

“Step behind the tree,” he said. “He hasn’t seen you.”

She obeyed without a second thought. He stood between her and Hugo, and the shrubbery concealed her swaying skirts.

“Aye, Hugo,” he called, turning, “I’m here, admiring the sunset.” Without turning toward her but lowering his voice considerably, he said, “The sun is in his eyes, so just stand still until he and I go back inside. Then, if he does see you come in, he will assume that you were about your own private business.”

“What if he asks you about me?”

“His mind is on other things just now. I doubt that he will,” he said, already taking the first step away from her. “Are you ready to leave?” he called to Hugo.

“Aye, I’ve ordered out the horses, and Rob’s waiting out front.”

Sidony realized he was likely right in thinking that Hugo had forgotten about her, but she wondered what she would say to Isobel or her hostess if either saw her come in from the garden. She put the thought out of her head to enjoy watching him stride up the pebbled path to the steps. Hugo had already vanished inside.

Counting to one hundred, she went inside to find Isobel just descending the stairs with her bairn and his nursemaid. Hugo, thankfully, was nowhere in sight.

As the last rays of sunlight slipped below the western horizon, the Earl of Fife led a dozen other riders at a brisk trot along the Canongate from the abbey kirk toward St. Giles and the Castle. Fife wore his customary all-black attire, and the men in his tail wore black, too. They were all well armed and rode fine horses, for the earl had attended Compline at the abbey and had his image to maintain.

De Gredin, riding beside him and wearing far more fashionable clothing as usual, said, “I thought the monks did not allow visitors at their services.”

“I attend whenever I choose, whether that cross-grained old abbot likes it or not,” Fife said. “He once threatened to excommunicate me when I’d displeased him, but I like Compline, because I can make my confession and the service is short. Moreover, with a dozen armed men waiting for me in his kirkyard, what can he say?”

“What, indeed?” de Gredin said cheerfully. “I am grateful that you have allowed me to stay, my lord. I trust that this time we shall achieve our goal.”

“Aye, sure, but we should not discuss that here,” Fife said. “You did mention providing ships, though, and I am curious to know how soon they may arrive.”

“As I recall, ’tis the season for shipping wool to the Hanseatic countries,” de Gredin said. “So I imagine they will arrive soon. With as many vessels as Leith Harbor will see in the next weeks, ’tis an excellent time to add a few more.”

“I’ve had one built for myself,” Fife said, switching to a topic less perilous for others to overhear. “The Serpent Royal harbors at Leith. Tomorrow I’ll take you to see her, for I doubt that even the Pope has one so fine.”

De Gredin expressed eagerness to see the Serpent , but Fife paid no heed. Not only did he have his own ship but also the promise of immediate papal aid, rather than the Pope’s less certain pledge before to support him only if he helped de Gredin find and return the Templar treasure. If all went well now, de Gredin would help him find Scotland’s Stone of Destiny, which was one item to which his holiness could make no honest claim even if it should prove to be part of the treasure. Moreover, if Fife found it, he would have little need of papal support to win the crown.

“I failed to mention earlier how relieved I was to find you were not still in the Borders, my lord,” de Gredin said. “Do you intend to return there soon?”

“Nay, for the constant threat there serves to keep the Douglas busy and out of my way here,” Fife said in a tone calculated to discourage further discussion. He had brought de Gredin along only because he preferred to keep an eye on him.

“Then I expect you mean to give your full attention to our quest now.”

“You talk too much,” Fife said, shooting him a look that would have terrified most men. “Practice the virtue of silence.”

De Gredin nodded, saying, “Forgive me, my lord. I meant no disrespect.”

Fife made no comment. The man’s submission did not surprise him. On the contrary, such easy submission was one of the several reasons he distrusted him.