Chapter 5

A t the abbey end of the Canongate, Giff, Sir Hugo, Rob, and Rob’s armed tail, having seen the ladies Isobel and Sidony safely inside Sinclair House, had returned the way they had come and were approaching Holyrood’s gates.

Casually, Hugo said, “Giff, my lad, if you want to stop and complain to the abbot about the overlarge trout in his loch, I warrant he’d hear your grievance.”

Giff glanced into the dusky yard, thinking of his muddy breeks. “I might ask instead why the devil he doesn’t do a better job of draining that bog-ridden place.”

“Go right ahead,” Hugo said, grinning.

“I ken fine that you don’t think I’d do it,” Giff said. “But I just might.”

Chuckling, Rob said, “Not now, you fashious bairn. Not only is my lord abbot likely to fine you for trespass, but Fife is out and about.”

“Is he indeed?” Hugo said, looking up and down the Canongate.

“He is,” Rob said. “I saw him ride toward St. Giles earlier whilst I waited for you. He was not alone, either. He had six of his men with him, well armed. He has been showing himself rather a lot since his return to Edinburgh.”

They turned north at the abbey gates and exited the royal burgh to follow the track toward Lestalric and the burgh’s official harbor at the village of Leith.

When they were beyond the slightest opportunity for anyone else to overhear them, Rob said in a crisp tone wholly at odds with the sleepy one to which Giff had grown accustomed, “Fife had another companion, Hugo, riding right beside him.”

“Did he?”

“Aye, ’twas our old friend de Gredin.”

The grim note in Rob’s voice made it clear that he did not like de Gredin.

“Should I ken more about this fellow?” Giff asked.

Measuring his words, Hugo said, “He is the chevalier Etienne de Gredin, some sort of kinsman to Lady Clendenen.”

“Don’t make too much of that,” Rob warned. “She is kin to nearly everyone who is anyone in Scotland and France, even to me, but I don’t trust the man, distant kinsman or none. No more should you.”

“I don’t think I am any connection to either of them,” Giff said, then reconsidered. “Except that you and I are cousins, so I expect . . .”

“You see how it is,” Rob said with a smile.

“At any event,” Hugo went on, “de Gredin grew up in France. His father was Scottish envoy to the French court, and the chevalier apparently encountered men there who persuaded him that the Templar treasure rightfully belongs to the Holy Kirk. We’ve dealt before with de Gredin and at least one other of his ilk. Such men believe that God favors their quest and will forgive them any sin they commit in His service, and will even reward them in heaven if they die serving Him.”

“Well, they all sound a bit daft to me, and I don’t trust any man I don’t know,” Giff said. “But is there more than his regrettable beliefs about the treasure and the Almighty’s supposed support to make you distrust de Gredin?”

“His present apparent friendship with Fife, for one,” Hugo said. “They had a falling-out last year, a serious one, and de Gredin applied to Henry Sinclair for aid.”

“What sort of a falling-out?” Giff asked.

“Sithee, when Fife tried to arrest Adela, de Gredin intervened.”

“I intervened,” Rob said grimly. “De Gredin did make himself useful at one point, but he did nothing before then to keep Fife from dangling Adela a hundred feet above the river Esk and threatening to drop her in when she would not talk to him.”

“Aye de mi, he must have terrified her!” Giff exclaimed, truly shocked.

“He did,” Rob said. “I suspect that afterward, when he saw that Fife would fail, he wanted to ingratiate himself with us. It worked, too. Henry took him to Girnigoe.”

“Henry felt obliged to take him, to get him out of Fife’s reach,” Hugo said.

With a wry smile, Rob said, “Since de Gredin believes, as Fife does, that the Sinclairs have the treasure, I’d wager he was nobbut a damned nuisance there.”

“It was kind of Henry to offer his protection,” Giff said. “But why, then, would de Gredin risk facing Fife again? And why would Fife trust him now?”

Hugo looked at Rob, who said, “Because both of them will exploit anything that takes them a step closer to the goals they seek.”

“The main one being to find the Templars’ mythical treasure,” Giff said. When his companions did not reply, he went on thinking aloud. “Plainly, Fife is a menace. I heard in the Borders that men who merely annoy him have a habit of disappearing, whilst others die suddenly and violently.”

“That is true,” Hugo said. “Rob’s father and brother were two of them.”

“Sakes, I’m sorry, Rob,” Giff said. “I did know that.”

“We all ken fine what the earl wants,” Rob said. “He wants to rule Scotland.”

“Aye, sure,” Giff agreed. “Yet he cannot think Parliament would support him just because he happened to find that treasure—assuming that it does exist.”

The other two remained silent.

“Sakes, do you mean to say it does?”

“It does,” Hugo said. “You should know that much so that you will treat their determination to find it with greater respect.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“Nay, we do not,” Hugo replied firmly.

“Does Henry?”

“We will refrain from speculation on that point. It is not for us to know.”

But Giff’s mind had been racing. “Aye de mi,” he said. “It is not the treasure at all, is it? Even if Fife could lay hands on it, it would not gain him the throne, because every other nobleman would fear such enormous wealth in royal hands.”

Neither of his companions spoke.

“’Tis the Lia Fail ,” he said. “I should have guessed at once. Sakes, but his standing with Parliament would soar if he could return the Stone to Scotland. But one first has to believe that it somehow carried itself back here from Westminster.”

“I told you before,” Hugo said. “The Stone never left Scotland.”

“You did, aye, but I find that hard to believe,” Giff said frankly. “Och, now don’t stiffen up like that, Hugo. I don’t doubt your honesty, just . . . Sakes, man, the thing has been missing now for . . . what? Eighty-five years, is it not?”

Hugo nodded.

“Well, then, do you think King Edward of England, whom the Scots called ‘the Hammer,’ was such a dafty that he carted off the wrong block of stone?”

“The Abbot of Scone had weeks of warning that Edward meant to seize the Stone,” Hugo said. “That abbot, being sensible and a patriot, entrusted it to another as trustworthy as himself, who later told Robert the Bruce. Before he died, Bruce entrusted the Stone’s safekeeping to two Templars, demanding their promise not to reveal its location until the Scottish throne was truly safe from English seizure. All Scottish Templars are, of course, bound by that same promise.”

“Who were these trustworthy people who aided Bruce and Scone’s abbot?”

Rob said gently, “Do you really want to know that just as you undertake its protection? Are you so certain you can keep silent if Fife gets his hands on you?”

Giff thought about that, recalling that the Templars’ most beloved grand master had found it impossible to keep silent under torture. Jacques de Molay had even uttered the heretical falsehoods his torturers demanded. To be sure, he had recanted them before they murdered him, but his disavowal had aided no one.

“Nay,” Giff said. “’Twould be unwise unless I need to know to succeed.”

“You may be sure you do not,” Rob said, and Hugo nodded agreement.

“So, where is the Stone now, and how do we move it?” Giff asked.

“We have a plan and several options,” Hugo said. “We’ll let you see it before we move it, but we must first try to learn what mischief Fife and de Gredin intend.”

“Aye,” Rob agreed. “Sithee, it is still possible that Fife intends only to glean information about Girnigoe and Orkney from de Gredin and then means to send ships and men there in search of the treasure, believing the Stone lies hidden with it.”

Hugo said, “That doesn’t fully explain de Gredin’s accord with Fife, though.”

“Nay,” Giff said, “for if Fife has more reason to distrust him than to trust him, why would he heed anything the man says about his time with Henry? I should think he would more likely suspect Henry’s hand in any plan that de Gredin suggests.”

“Aye, Fife suspects everyone,” Hugo said. “He’s had minions following us, even during his lengthy excursions into the Borders this past year. They slip in and out of Roslin glen and think we don’t see them, because we leave them alone unless they annoy us. But we cannot have them flitting about whilst we move the Stone.”

“So the Stone is near Roslin,” Giff said.

“Aye, and as soon as we take greater precautions, Fife will know we’re up to something,” Rob said. “There’s Lestalric ahead,” he added. “On yonder hilltop.”

Giff peered through rapidly fading light and saw a steep hill jutting from a nestlike woodland at its base. He could barely discern the outline of a castle atop it but could determine neither the castle’s size nor its features beyond a tower or two.

Moments later, as they passed into the dark woods, Rob said, “I’m thinking the first thing we must do is furbish you up a bit, Giff. The King and his court return to Edinburgh soon from Stirling, which means Fife is likely to remain here, at least for a time. You’d do well to look as if that is the reason you are here, too, until we can arrange all the details for moving the Stone. I hope you enjoy court life.”

“I don’t,” Giff said, but as he did, he found himself wondering if the lady Sidony might decide to attend any court functions. He still wondered how in the world Hugo had managed to forget her existence after supper, as if she had faded from the great chamber like a ghost or one of the wee folk. Realizing that Rob apparently expected him to expand upon his curt reply, he said casually, “Mayhap we’d all be wise to attend court once or twice, to learn what Fife means to do.”

At Sinclair House, Sidony had conjured up a similar thought, that she might exert herself to attend court a time or two, to see who else might do so.

Even so, when she and Isobel retired to the ladies’ solar after seeing wee William Robert tucked sleepily, if fussily, into his cot, and Isobel suggested that they ought to consider what they still needed to complement their court dresses, Sidony said, “You know I dislike taking part in all that din and revelry.”

“It is hardly a place of quiet reflection,” her sister agreed, smiling.

“Reflection?” Sidony said with an unladylike snort. “The King’s kinsmen behave as if they were raised in a sty, and others want only to outdress and outdrink one another. I don’t know why any civil person should want to go.”

“One must pay one’s respects to his grace,” Isobel said seriously. “Recall that Countess Isabella will come to town soon. Doubtless we may look for her to arrive within the sennight, and if you think she will allow either of us to stay at home whilst she attends court, you might just as well think again.”

Sidony submitted, knowing that Michael’s mother, the powerful Countess in her own right of Strathearn and Caithness, would expect them both to accompany her to the royal court, if only to increase the splendor of her retinue. Isabella knew her worth and considered it far greater than that of anyone in the royal family.

“Will Michael be back in time to go with us, do you think?” she asked.

“That will depend upon how his business prospers.”

“You said he was just riding to Glasgow. Surely, he should be back by now.”

Isobel shrugged and reached for her tambour frame. “He said he might pay his respects to MacDonald.”

“The Lord of the Isles—at Ardtornish? Sakes, I could have gone with him. He might have taken me home!”

“Don’t be silly,” Isobel said, taking up her needle. “MacDonald is as likely to be at Finlaggan, and even Ardtornish is still a good distance from Glenelg.”

“But he might have gone farther. The distance is not so great as that.”

“You could hardly expect him to take you with him, in any event, dearling. If he did go to the Isles, ’twas because he had important business there.”

“Do you know what business it is?”

Isobel looked directly at her then. “If I did,” she said quietly, “I would not tell you. I do not prattle about my husband’s business to anyone.”

Ruefully aware that she had overstepped, Sidony said, “You are right. I should not have asked such a question.”

Isobel smiled. “I’d have asked it myself,” she admitted. “But now, what do you think about having our seamstress change the narrow lace on your blue gown?”

Sidony made no further objection to discussing court dresses, but she lent only half an ear to Isobel’s plans. Her thoughts had returned to the interesting events of the day and Sir Giffard MacLennan.

The following morning, the Earl of Fife and his entourage arrived at Leith Harbor an hour and a half after Terce. The air felt damp, although no rain had fallen since the previous day’s light drizzle, and the sky was dull gray and low.

Reining in, Fife turned up the sable collar of his heavy wool cloak and tugged his hat lower as he faced the choppy gray water of the firth.

“Which one is she?” de Gredin asked, reining in beside him.

“The Serpent Royal ,” he said, pointing at his new ship, riding at anchor near the eastern boundary of the crowded harbor, out of the way of careless helmsmen.

“She looks like some of Prince Henry’s newer ships,” de Gredin observed.

“I want her to mix in with his when we go north,” Fife said. “But pray refer to the impudent fellow as the Earl of Orkney if you must refer to him at all.”

“Aye, sure,” de Gredin agreed. “’Twas just habit, for Orkney’s people in the north use his Norse title. Also, living in France as I did whilst my father was envoy there, one forgets that we Scots have no princes, that our highest rank is your own.”

Fife grunted, still gazing at his fine ship. The design he had ordered combined comfort for himself with the best qualities of the speedy, easily maneuvered western galleys. It also included cargo holds fore and aft that were large enough to contain the Stone when he found it, as well as other spaces useful for smaller cargo, equipment, or provisions, albeit none as spacious as more cumbersome merchant ships boasted.

“Tell me more about her,” de Gredin invited. “How long is she?”

“Seventy feet, I think, and sixteen oars, as you’ll see for yourself in just a few minutes,” he said dismissively. His captain and shipbuilder had told him a great deal about the Serpent , but not being a sailor or fond of the sea, he remembered little of it. “There,” he added, “they have seen us and are manning a boat to fetch us.”

Never having learned to swim, Fife detested small boats, such as the coble being rowed now to collect them, and he realized that he ought to have sent orders ahead to tow the Serpent to a wharf.

As men scrambled to pull the coble higher onto the shingle, an imp of a lad leaped from it and ran toward him, tousled dark curls bouncing with each step, his baggy sleeves and the short skirt of his saffron-colored doublet fluttering about him.

By the time he reached Fife, one of his soled, roll-topped overstockings had sagged to rippled, untidy folds around his ankle. Without taking his eyes off the earl, he bent to tug up the stocking as he said, “Good day to ye, me lord Fife. Me da’ sent me to bid ye welcome. He’d ha’ come hisself, he said, only ye did give him orders no’ to leave the Serpent now till we sail.”

As the lad straightened, Fife said with easy condescension, “So you are Captain Maxwell’s son, are you? What’s your name, lad?”

“Jake Maxwell, me lord.” Glancing over the rest of the party, he said, “How many will ye take aboard wi’ ye? The wee coble canna carry all these in one trip.”

Fife looked at the “wee coble” disapprovingly. Six muscular oarsmen stood with it, and the water in the harbor was relatively calm, but he saw no reason to overburden the boat. He gestured toward de Gredin. “They need take only this man and me. We want to decide what more needs seeing to before the Serpent sails. Do you mean to sail with us, Jake Maxwell?” he added with a touch of humor.

To his surprise, the lad said, “Aye, sure, me lord.”

“I should think you’d be wiser to bide safely at home with your mother.”

“Me mam’s dead,” Jake said. “Me da’s teaching me all he kens so I can be captain of a fine ship m’self one day. Will ye board our coble now, me lord?”

Fife hesitated, eyeing the daunting distance from shingle to ship.

Jake, misreading his emotion, said proudly, “She’s a fine vessel, is she no’?”

“Aye, that she is,” Fife said. “Lead on, Jake Maxwell, and tell those men of yours to put their backs into their oars. I do not want to be all day about this.”

“Aye, sure, sir, I’ll tell them,” Jake said. Grinning, he ran to obey.

At Sinclair House, Sidony was feeling uncommonly dull. Not only did the overcast sky fail to clear by Friday midday, but during that same time, she had seen no one but her sister Isobel, Isobel’s son, and the servants. Any lingering interest in her own or her sister’s court wardrobe had vanished, and thanks to her usually entertaining nephew’s difficulties with the incipient arrival of a new tooth, not to mention the resultant loss of two nights’ sleep for most of the inhabitants of the house, no remedy had yet presented itself to rouse her from increasing languor.

“I wonder why Rob has not been to visit, or Hugo,” she said to Isobel as they savored a few minutes of blessed quiet in the ladies’ solar after their midday meal. “Recollect that both of them promised to look in often whilst Michael is away.”

“Sakes, it has only been three days since we saw them.”

“Aye, but mayhap we should ride to Lestalric this afternoon to visit Adela and see for ourselves that all is well there.”

“Not today,” Isobel said, looking out the window. “It looks as if it might rain, and I should not like to arrive at Lestalric soaked to the skin. Nor is Will likely to enjoy an outing just now.”

“Then leave him with his nursemaid,” Sidony suggested. When Isobel looked astonished, she said guiltily, “I’m being pettish, I know, and I’m sorry. But I feel as gloomy as the weather. I just wish someone would visit us.”

“We’ll attend kirk at St. Giles on Sunday,” Isobel said. “You’ll see nearly everyone we know in town there. And next week, Adela’s supper—”

“I don’t want to wait,” Sidony said. “I want to talk to people.”

Isobel shot her a shrewd look but said only, “I warrant Ealga would welcome a visit, too. You must not go alone, of course, unless you want to risk Hugo’s ire again, but I’ll send a pair of gillies with you if you like.”

Sidony nearly said she did not want to go but held her tongue, not only because she did not like the tone of the thoughts in her own head but because it had dawned on her that Lady Clendenen had an ear for gossip and always knew what everyone in her extensive orbit was doing.

Accordingly, she summoned a smile and said, “’Tis an excellent idea. I cannot remember when I’ve let a mood overset me like this one, but with her ladyship, I shall have to behave. Pray, forgive me for being so beastly, Isobel.”

“Aye, sure,” Isobel said with a chuckle. “And when you see Ealga, be sure to ask her where all our menfolk have hidden themselves.”

Nearly certain that Isobel knew it was not their menfolk who had sunk her into such a mood, Sidony decided to ignore the chuckle and the look that attended it. As she went upstairs to tidy her hair, she decided that the becoming pink and gray bodice and skirt she had on was presentable enough for a visit to her ladyship.

Twenty minutes later, admitted to Lady Clendenen’s private sitting room and welcomed with a warm embrace, Sidony politely let her lead the conversation until Lady Clendenen mentioned the King’s expected return to the royal burgh.

“I swore I did not care about such things,” Sidony said. “But I own, madam, I quite long for amusement. Without Michael and the others in and out all the time, Sinclair House has grown dull. Poor Will is teething, too, so Isobel and I have only stolen moments now and again to talk to each other. We expected to see more of Rob and Hugo, but I expect Hugo has gone home by now and Rob . . .”

When she paused, her ladyship said, “Aye, Hugo rode home Wednesday morning, because naturally, his duties at Roslin include arranging for Isabella’s journey to town. You have seen for yourself how she travels with her sheets and favorite furniture, as if she forgets how comfortable Sinclair House is. Her cavalcade is always enormous, and ’tis Hugo who sees that it travels safely.”

“Did Rob go with him?” Sidony asked. “If he did and Adela stayed at home with tiny Anna, they may be feeling as dull as Isobel and I are.”

Lady Clendenen shot her a look much like the one Isobel had as she said, “Rob had not gone anywhere as of this morning, nor yet that charming friend of his, Sir Giffard MacLennan. Rob is furbishing him up to join us all at court. Sir Giffard cannot have brought much baggage, riding here from Galloway as he did.”

“No,” Sidony agreed. “Mayhap they will be at St. Giles on Sunday.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” her ladyship said. “Sithee, my waiting woman’s niece is in service at Lestalric, and she told my woman that Rob and Giff mean to ride to Roslin later this afternoon, doubtless to assist Hugo. She said they would return tomorrow evening, but I think that is most unlikely, because Isabella likes a large retinue, as much for safety as to display her consequence. If she asks them to stay until she leaves, I expect they will do so.”

“Do you know yet just when she comes to town?”

“On Wednesday, I believe.”

That life could remain dull for five more days gave Sidony an urge to revert to a childish display of temper, but she managed to suppress it. Taking fond leave of her hostess an hour later, she returned to Sinclair House.

Several ideas occurred to her on the way, none of which would appeal to Sir Hugo, and only one of which she dared hope might appeal to Isobel.

At Sinclair House, she found her sister looking worn out and unsuccessfully trying to comfort her son, who was loudly suffering the discomfort of his teething.

Sidony said, “I’ll take him for a time, dearling. You’ll come to Aunt Sidony, won’t you, Will?” When she held out her arms, the baby tumbled into them and curled tight, shoving his fist into his mouth. “You see?” she said. “Go and rest.”

“I’m glad you’re back,” Isobel said gratefully. “He’s been crying almost since you left, and wants nothing to do with his nurse. But he’ll always go to you.”

Sidony could not boast that she comforted Will, but she walked with him and crooned as he whimpered and sucked his fist. All the while, her thoughts were busy, rejecting one plan after another to devise some amusement for herself. She could not ignore the frequently intruding image of Sir Giffard MacLennan, or that each time it appeared she felt the imprint of his lips on hers again, but she assured herself that she had little interest in the man. She just wanted something more interesting to think about than dealing with teething babies or feminine wardrobes.

Waiting until Will had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion and Isobel had had time to relax, have her supper, and enjoy a goblet of claret, Sidony said as they rose from the table, “We need a respite, my dear. What would you think about riding to Hawthornden tomorrow morning, to visit Sorcha? I was thinking—”

“Sakes, you weren’t thinking at all,” Isobel said. “You cannot imagine I’d leave Will when he’s feeling so poorly. It is not like you to be so thoughtless.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Sidony said, suppressing a huge surge of guilt. “But much as I love you and Will, and little though I understand it myself, I have been feeling like a captive for days, and I need to breathe. Surely, you understand that. Don’t you remember how you used to fly off on a horse after only a day’s rain at Chalamine, or two of company? Moreover, I’ve thought it all out. We can take him with us. You know he likes to ride with us, and it will take his mind off his teeth.”

“It is six miles to Hawthornden,” Isobel said. “That is too far.”

“He’ll sleep most of the way.”

“Even if he does, he won’t sleep coming back, and if we stay overnight with Sorcha, we’ll have to stay till Monday, because she and Hugo always attend the services at Roslin, and Isabella would expect us to do so as well.”

“I did not think of that,” Sidony admitted. “But, with Michael away, even if we did have to stay, we’d have no urgent reason to return sooner. Adela’s supper is not until Tuesday, and Sorcha won’t mind having us there. Nor will Hugo.”

“Oh, yes, they would,” Isobel said. “Recall that they have no children of their own yet and that Hawthornden is not nearly as large as Roslin or even Sinclair House. Do you imagine either of them will like hearing Will scream with pain all night, as he has these past two? We’d have to take his nurse, too, and she does not look on riding as exercise but as penance for one’s sins,” she added as a clincher.

An impulse stirred to apologize again and do whatever Isobel asked of her, but Sidony looked at her own hands, clasped in her lap, and said nothing.

“Now I’m the one being beastly,” Isobel said. “I should not press you to do more than you like, and I do do that—often. I know you’d rather be home in the Highlands, and I know I should not depend on you as much as I do to look after Will. Sakes, you should be enjoying your time here, not playing nurse to my son.”

Sidony bit her lip hard to stop herself from saying she hadn’t meant a word of it. Never before had she ignored a plea from any of her sisters, and if anyone had asked where she found strength to do so now, or demanded to know what demon had possessed her, she could not have explained.

“You won’t want to go to Hawthornden alone,” Isobel went on. “But you may take the two lads and ride to Lestalric to visit Adela and Rob. I warrant you do need time away from here, so spend the day if you like. Will may be much better by then, and if he is not, Nurse will do all she can to help me. After all, many mothers look after their children without the aid of nurses or sisters, do they not?”

Again, Sidony nearly yielded to her better self. But she knew that if she did, she would not find the strength—not for a long time—to try again to do something just for herself. Nevertheless, she said, “Art sure, Isobel? Truly?”

“Aye, dearest, I’m sure,” Isobel said with her usual warm smile.

If Will cried that night, Sidony did not hear him, and all was still quiet the next morning when she put on her moss-green riding dress, took a roll from the kitchen to break her fast, and went to the stable to order her favorite horse saddled.

The two gillies, trained by the imperious countess, her daughters-in-law, and her generally amiable sons not to question any unusual doings of the Sinclair House ladies, saddled horses for themselves when she asked them to and followed her.

She hesitated only for a moment at the entrance to the Canongate. After a glance to the east, and with thanks that Isobel’s bedchamber did not overlook the road, she turned toward St. Giles and was soon on her way out of town. After all, Isobel had not forbidden her to go south but had only assumed that she would not.

She maintained a good pace as they crossed the river plain and rode toward the hills beyond it. Enough wool carts, sheep, and ordinary travelers were on the road to ease any fear she might have had that her escort was too small. That was a point Hugo would certainly raise if she were so unfortunate as to meet him. It was an unlikely prospect, though, if he was at Roslin preparing for Isabella’s journey.

It occurred to her only then that Sorcha was as unlikely to be at Hawthornden as Hugo was. Since the castle lay just a mile from Roslin, Isabella would doubtless expect Sorcha’s help as well as his. Nevertheless, Sidony rode on.

She felt delightfully free, if still a little guilt ridden. The sisters who had gone before her had all put their own wishes above anyone else’s at times, but she had rarely done so. Surely, she told herself, it could not be such a sin, just this once, for her to do exactly what she wanted to do without counting the cost.

Half an hour later, they came to the road following the east bank of the river North Esk and began the uphill climb to the eastern rim of Roslin Gorge. Not long afterward, they met a small party of Hugo’s men-at-arms. But, recognizing her as a member of the family, they made no objection to her riding on.

Giff had spent a portion of each of the previous three days humoring Rob’s resolve to outfit him for an appearance at the royal court. He suspected Rob thought they would attend often until they moved the Lia Fail —if their Stone was truly the real one, an assumption that Giff remained unwilling to make before seeing it.

Rob had also accompanied him to Leith Harbor to see if any of the many ships harbored there might answer Giff’s requirements and be available for purchase or hire. Rob assured him that cost was not a consideration, and although they had certainly not seen all of them, Giff had seen more than one that might do.

Even so, without knowing his cargo, he felt ill prepared to judge their merits with any degree of certainty. As a result, the two had set out late the previous afternoon for Roslin, learning upon their arrival that Hugo had set guards all along the river gorge to deter unwanted visitors until Isabella had made her departure.

“’Tis as good an excuse as we’ll find to post so many guards,” Hugo said. “With Fife in town, as he is, we haven’t seen much of his men lately, anyway, but I’ve heard he means to travel north soon, doubtless to annoy Henry.”

“As long as he stays out of my way as I sail to the west, I’ll see that as a good thing,” Rob said.

“Aye,” Hugo agreed. “But you’ll want to keep an eye out for him as you go. And if that fine new ship of his is sitting in Sinclair Bay when you get there, you’re to go straight on without stopping at Girnigoe.”

“Is Fife’s new ship harbored at Leith?” Giff asked. “What is it like?”

Hugo shrugged. “’Tis something of a mixture of galley and merchantman. Doubtless it is not much good as either—or so we may hope if you run into it.”

“Aye,” Giff said. “I’d prefer a swift western galley, myself, but as our cargo is unlikely to be small enough to be easily concealed—”

“You’ll soon be able to judge for yourself what you’ll need,” Hugo said.

Thus did he find himself midway through Saturday morning, standing with Hugo and Rob before a tall rock slab in a heavily wooded wedge-shaped glen of the sort that Borderers called a cleuch .

Without a word, Rob slid a hand down the near edge of the slab, lingered at the bottom for a moment, then stood, grabbed the edge with both hands, and pulled.

The slab moved, revealing an opening large enough for a man to stand in.

“This way,” Rob said as Hugo handed him a lighted torch and turned to ease the huge rock slab shut behind them.

Accustomed to the open sea, Giff strongly disliked enclosed places. But as daylight disappeared, leaving only the flickering torch, rampant curiosity overcame his discomfort as he and Hugo followed Rob along the passageway.

It twisted and turned. The torch flickered wildly as Rob strode, and Giff realized that the ground beneath them was unusually flat and free of obstacles.

Rob’s broad shoulders blocked most of the view ahead, but he stopped at last, held the torch higher, and said, “There, Giff, just yonder.”

Realizing the passage had opened to a wider chamber, Giff moved to stand beside him. A chill touched him as he looked in awe at the object Rob indicated.

“Bless my soul,” he murmured.