Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Adela awoke to soft footsteps in her bedchamber, followed by the familiar scrape of a hearth shovel. Pushing the bed curtain aside, she peeped out to see Kenna crouched by the banked embers, coaxing tinder and kindling to flame.

The girl glanced at her, saying, "Good morning, your ladyship. I hope ye dinna mind me being late. But as ye were awake till such an hour, I thought I'd let ye sleep a wee bit longer. Still, the countess said ye'd want to be up to greet anyone as might want to pay respects to Lord Ardelve."

"I do," Adela said, throwing back the covers. One had to perform some duties whether one wanted to or not. Moreover, she had learned that one should view the countess's statements as commands rather than suggestions.

At least she felt rested, and for once, she had suffered none of the nightmares that had plagued her since her abduction. They had begun when she was under Waldron's control, which made sense. That they had continued afterward made no sense, because she was safe and would be safe as long as she stayed at Roslin.

Roslin Castle was one of the strongest fortresses in the country, boasting a high curtain wall and strong gates. Perched on a clifftop promontory thrusting into a sharp curve of the deep gorge cut by the turbulent river North Esk, it was nearly unassailable for even the most determined enemy.

The river flowed almost all the way around the south-facing promontory, leaving only a narrow, terrifying land bridge to connect it to a treacherous, heavily wooded land mass to its north. From there, a narrow cart track dipped down to follow the river's western bank north to Edinburgh or south to the head of Roslin Glen. Another, higher road reached by fording the river below the castle followed the eastern ridge and was the better of the two.

Reminding herself again that she was safe, Adela put all thought of the nightmares out of her head. Moving quickly in the chilly room, she performed her morning ablutions, then accepted Kenna's help to dress in a simple, becoming tunic and skirt of soft, moss green cameline.

"Ye'll need a proper headdress today," Kenna said as she brushed Adela's hair.

Adela agreed. Both Isabella and Lady Clendenen would expect her to behave as a married lady—a widowed lady—and as such, she could not go about as she preferred, with only a short veil to cover her hair.

"Just plait it, Kenna," she said. "But first brush it back off my brow. I'll wear the plain white caul and the matching silk veil that Lady Isobel gave me."

Most of the clothing she wore at Roslin had come from the generous Isobel, because Adela's abductor had taken her from the Highlands with no more than the blue wedding dress and linen shift she had worn the first time she had tried to marry Ardelve. Thanks to the countess and the countess's seamstress, she did have her golden velvet wedding dress and one other, a fine tawny silk gown with bands of colorful embroidery to decorate its hem, deep neckline, and the edge of each sleeve.

Ten minutes later, heading to the great hall to break her fast at the high table, she warned herself that it might take effort to maintain her resolve and remain civil. Thus, she hesitated on the threshold when she saw that Isabella, Lady Clendenen, Isobel, Sorcha, and Sidony had all lingered at the table, chatting together.

She knew they had likely been discussing her, deciding amongst themselves just what she should do. None seemed to notice her right away, though, so she drew a breath to steady her nerves and moved quietly toward them.

Except for two gillies dismantling the last of the trestles in the lower hall, no men were present. But as she neared the dais, her father entered the lower hall from the stairway in the southeast corner that led to the main entrance a half-floor below.

"Hold there, lass," he said in his loud, blustery way, bringing conversation at the high table to a halt. "I want a word wi' ye."

"Aye, sir," she said. Turning to face him, she was aware that every eye at the high table had turned their way. She knew, too, that every ear strained now to hear what he would say to her.

Macleod was a large, robust man with a large, robust voice and an unpredictable temper. But he smiled and put a hand on her shoulder as he said, "I'm pleased to see ye up and about. Ye mustna shut yourself away."

"I've no intention of doing that, sir," she said, keeping her voice low despite the surge of annoyance she felt when she realized that he must have discussed her with Lady Clendenen. "I know my duty, Father," she added clearly.

"Aye, ye do," he agreed. "'Tis one o' your most admirable traits. By my troth, lass, I ken fine that I can depend on ye to do as ye ought."

"I hope so, sir, although I own that I do not know yet what that may be. Mayhap you, too, have advice for me."

When he glanced at the high table, fidgeting, she knew exactly what he would say and nearly sighed in her vexation when the prediction proved true.

"Bless ye, lass," he said. "Ye ought to stay right here at Roslin wi' your sisters and … and others ye can trust to ha' your best interest at heart."

"Indeed, sir, do you not think Ardelve's family may take offense if I do not accompany his body home? Surely, they'll expect me to."

"Sakes, they dinna ken that the man be dead, so they'll expect nowt o' ye."

Exerting patience as she so often had to do to avoid rousing his temper, she said, "They'll learn of his death soon enough, because word of such things travels faster than coffins do. Will they not expect me to accompany his funeral train?"

"Ealga—that is to say, Lady Clendenen—will attend to them if they do expect such," he said, glancing again at the high table. "She'll send her own message, telling Fergus she's invited ye to stay wi' her."

Adela fought a familiar urge to agree to whatever he said, if only to end the discussion. But she knew she could not submit so easily, not if she was to hold her own against them all. Right or wrong, if she was not to lose what freedom she had, she had to choose for herself the course her life would take.

Therefore, deciding that she might as well make her case to the others as she made it to him, she said in a tone that would reach the dais, "I am grateful for Lady Clendenen's invitation, Father, but much as I appreciate everyone's advice, I will decide for myself what to do."

The heavy frown returned. "D'ye think that's wise, lass? Ye shouldna reject the opportunity her ladyship be offering ye."

Deciding to emphasize what she hoped would prove her strongest weapon, she said, "I am a married lady, sir, a widow, and I have resources of my own now, or I will have them soon. Surely, I have the right to decide this matter for myself."

"Resources? What resources?"

"Lady Clendenen said Ardelve settled money on me, enough so I can live independently. You agreed to those settlements, sir. Is that not so?"

Macleod's frown grew more ominous. "She shouldna ha' told ye such stuff!"

"Mercy, is it not true then?"

"Och, aye, it be true enough, but ye're nobbut a lass, Adela, and ye ha' nae business to be thinking o' living independently. What can ye ken o' such a life? I'll deal wi' your gelt for ye, my lass, or if ye dinna trust your own father with it, and choose instead to make your home at Loch Alsh, as is your right, I expect yon Fergus will be capable enough o' looking after your gelt for ye."

Stiffening, she looked him in the eye but lowered her voice again as she said, "I can think of no one I would trust more than you to look after my affairs, sir. I know you to be a most careful manager."

"Aye, sure," he said in his normal tone and looking less belligerent. "But if ye dinna want to live at Chalamine …" He paused meaningfully.

"I warrant you'd even welcome me home, despite having made it plain to me that Lady Clendenen will not marry you until you have married off your daughters. She meant me in particular, you know," she added, lowering her voice even more. "She certainly knows Sidony well enough to be sure she would never interfere with the management of your household."

"Aye, that's true," Macleod acknowledged. "That lass couldna make a decision an her life depended on it."

"Nor would I intentionally interfere with Lady Clendenen," Adela added, nearly whispering. "But I do understand her concern, because I cannot promise never to suggest she try another way of doing things. Not after so many years of running that household according to my own wishes, and yours."

"Aye, well, two women trying to control a household can be a wretched business," he said with a shudder. "I remember how it were wi' my mother and yours. Hoots, but until your uncle took your gran to live wi' him on the Isle o' Lewis, 'twere a dreadful arrangement! Me mam had a temper on her, and although yours were a gentler lass, mine could stir coals wi' a tree stump."

Feeling her cheeks redden at the realization that no one could have any doubt now what course her side of the conversation had taken, she raised her voice again to say, "I don't think for a moment that Lady Clendenen would stir coals, sir. She simply wants to believe her household will be her own. Pray, try to understand, though, that I must think about this. I want to understand my position, and I will appreciate advice from anyone who offers it. But do please recall that I, too, am accustomed to running a household. I don't want to dwindle into …"

She hesitated, reluctant to speak the words that hovered on the tip of her tongue lest she anger him, but to her surprise, he smiled.

"Ye dinna want to become like your Aunt Euphemia," he said bluntly. "Sakes, lass, ye couldna do that an ye tried."

"But I think I could," Adela said. "Only think, sir, when Aunt Euphemia lived with us, she barely opened her mouth for fear of angering you and being turned out although you are her own brother and would never have done such a thing. And she does not like to manage things. But I do. I'd feel suffocated if I had to live with anyone who expected me to be always meek and submissive."

"But women should be meek and submissive," Macleod said.

"Perhaps some should," a new voice chimed in. "But, thankfully, most noblewomen of my acquaintance are rarely either."

Adela, facing Macleod, had briefly forgotten their interested but still silent audience. Although it was Isabella who had spoken, the surge of heat in her cheeks resulted from fear of what Lady Clendenen must be thinking. How, she wondered, could she face her again?

However, Macleod, typically, had paid the women at the high table no heed whatsoever until the interruption. He turned now, his heavy frown back in place until he realized who had spoken. Then, hastily, he bobbed a semblance of a bow.

"Good morning, madam," he said politely to Countess Isabella. "I ken fine that a woman o' your rank doesna submit easily to anyone but her king. However, I hope ye'll no be putting such notions in my lass's head as will set her against them wi' authority over her."

"Our Adela has too much sense to fly in the face of true authority, my dear Macleod," Isabella said. "But do stay the rest of your conversation until she has broken her fast. She scarcely ate a bite yesterday and must be well nigh starving.

"Moreover," she added when he hesitated, grimacing, "we are all of a single mind with you, you know. So we can help you persuade her. And you will both be more comfortable if you sit at the table with us," she added as a clincher.

"Ye'll do as ye're bid, Adela," Macleod muttered. Then, in a louder tone, he thanked the countess and put a hand on Adela's shoulder as if to turn her himself.

Knowing she had no choice but to obey the countess's summons, she was already turning, but the first person to catch her eye was not Isabella but Lady Clendenen. Her eyes were atwinkle, and she was smiling as warmly as if she had not heard a word of what Adela had said.

Adela expelled a sigh of relief, hoping she had not said anything to truly offend her. Lady Clendenen had never behaved any way but kindly toward her. Perhaps she truly did take a motherly interest. Reluctant to trust her own judgment on that score, Adela fingered the gold chain necklace she rarely took off as she went with Macleod to join the others at the high table.

Feeling her way carefully in the conversation that ensued, she made no effort at first to join in. When two gillies came running, Isabella sent one to the kitchen to fetch hot food for Adela and the other to the buttery to fetch ale for Macleod. The conversation continued while Adela ate, and although the other ladies agreed that she should heed their advice, they did not seem to agree with each other.

Sorcha said, "You are a fool if you insist on traveling all the way to Loch Alsh when you do not have to, Adela. To travel with a corpse—"

"Pray, Sorcha, don't be horrid," Sidony pleaded. "This must all be hard for her to bear, although I should not want to travel with a dead person, myself," she added with a shudder. "You don't want to, do you, Adela?"

Applied to in such a way, and quite unable to snub her youngest sister, Adela said, "Duty is often unpleasant, Sidony. But one must do it nonetheless."

"Have some ale, dear," Isabella suggested. "Ivor is behind you with the jug."

"Thank you, madam," Adela said, nodding to the gillie and shifting aside to let him fill her mug. She had no taste for ale at breakfast, but it was easier to accept it than to debate the point with Isabella.

Conversation continued to flow around her, but although she had told Macleod she welcomed advice, she let it flow unstaunched until Lady Clendenen said flatly, "Widowhood is not for the young or the faint of heart, dearest. I was in my fortieth year when poor Clendenen went. At first, even for me, life was bleak."

Despite herself, Adela listened.

"More than one warned me that people would think it scandalous if I lived alone in Clendenen House. Most insisted that duty to my husband required me to stay with a respectable kinsman, which meant moving in with Cousin Ardelve or my brother. But both lived far from town, so instead, when a friend invited me to stay with her and her husband in North Berwick, I did. However, after a month's unbearable solitude there, I leaped at an invitation to accompany other friends to a house party in Linlithgow."

"Really?" Sidony said, smiling. "A party?"

"Aye, and I'd do the same again," Lady Clendenen said. "While it is true that some people, mostly here in the Lowlands, believe as the Roman Kirk teaches that one should observe what the Kirk calls a proper period of mourning, many more—certainly in the Borders and Highlands—believe in getting on with life whilst one has a life to get on with. My North Berwick friends are the first sort, I'm afraid."

"Hence, the solitude," Sorcha said dryly.

"Just so. But I believe that our time here is too short to waste it in mourning. So when the King removed to Edinburgh from Stirling a month later, I politely ignored my friends' renewed invitations and warnings and returned to Clendenen House. Life progressed thereafter with much more liveliness and gaiety."

"I dinna believe in long mourning, either," Macleod said. "But nowt could harm ye whilst ye stayed wi' friends, and ye were older and wiser than my lass here. Thank God, she has no house to be staying in by herself as ye did."

Lady Clendenen's twinkling gaze met Adela's solemn one. "Do I not have the use of a house, sir, in Stirling?" Adela asked quietly.

A glance at Lady Clendenen revealed that her ladyship had shifted her gaze guiltily to Macleod, but he was glowering at Adela and did not appear to notice.

"Who told ye that?" he demanded. But he clearly figured it out for himself before the words had left his tongue, because he shot a furious look at her ladyship.

"I did," Lady Clendenen said, meeting that look. "I thought she should know."

Adela returned her attention to her breakfast as Macleod's temper erupted.

Her ladyship replied placidly, Isabella smiled, and Sorcha and Isobel soon joined in the fray. Clearly the latter two, at least, agreed that Lady Clendenen had made a grave error in mentioning the house in Stirling, but Adela was grateful for the knowledge. She wondered what else lay hidden in Ardelve's settlements.

She wondered, too, what her companion on the ramparts would think of the debate. Suddenly, she wished she could tell him about it, because she had confidence that, one way or another, he would help her decide the best course for herself.

The longer she sat there, half listening to the continuing debate over what she should do, the more persuaded she became that she did not want to return to Loch Alsh or to Chalamine if she truly did not have to go. One's duty was important, to be sure, but if everyone at the table agreed that she owed none to Ardelve's corpse, she found it hard to believe that he would feel otherwise or expect her to do so.

He had understood that she had feelings and ideas of her own, and he had also seemed to respect them. That he would insist that any widow—however recent—should accompany a deteriorating corpse on a long journey to a house she had never seen and, once there, should seek the hospitality of a stepson she had met only once seemed difficult if not impossible to imagine.

At that precise moment, Sir Hugo entered the hall from the main stairway with several of his men. Clearly surprised to find so many still at the table, he paused to bid them all good morning.

"Has the fog cleared yet?" Isabella asked him.

"Nay, madam, it still lies thick in the glen. Even so, Sir Edward and most of our other remaining guests have declared their intention to leave after the midday meal. I'll send two of our lads with each party to see them safely on their way."

"A good notion," Isabella said. "Thank you, Hugo."

He nodded, then glanced at Adela and smiled at Sorcha before turning away with his men toward the northwest stairs.

Seeing him reminded Adela of Sidony's suggestion that she might stay at Hawthornden Castle. That would give her privacy and a chance to think clearly.

Hawthornden lay a mile from Roslin. Her memory of it was vague, since she had gone there only the one time with Isobel, Sidony, and the countess to pay a bride visit, and thus had seen little of it, but she did recall that it sat above the River Esk on a high, sheer cliff. She knew that Hugo's men-at-arms had used it for themselves until he took Sorcha there, but it had seemed comfortable, even so.

Glancing at Sorcha, she wondered if her sister had broached the notion to Hugo. It being clearly not a good time to ask her, Adela wondered how long she would have to wait until they could speak privately.

On the other hand, Hugo was here now.

Deciding the time had come to take some action of her own, Adela waited only a few minutes longer before quietly excusing herself.

"I'll walk upstairs with you," Isobel said, rising.

"I'll go, too," Sorcha said.

Adela was certain she had kept her expression neutral, but she was aware of a shrewd glance from Isabella before the countess said lightly, "Don't run away yet, Sorcha, nor you, Sidony. I want to show you both some fabric that arrived yesterday from Paris, France. Come with me now. I left it in the solar."

Adela breathed a sigh of relief.

"Are we plaguing you so much?" Isobel asked as they stepped off the dais.

Guiltily, Adela shook her head. "I know everyone means well," she said. "It's just that I'm not used to so many people around all the time. I can scarcely think."

"You mean you're not used to so many trying to tell you what to do."

"Aye, that's it," she admitted. "Moreover, so much has happened that I want time to sort it out for myself before I decide what to do."

"I understand," Isobel said with a grin. "I never listened to anyone else until Michael came along. I listen to him because he listens to me. Father never did."

Adela gave her a straight look. "Are you trying to tell me you never heeded anything Hector said to you? Because, if you are—"

"You wouldn't believe me," Isobel said with a laugh. "And quite right, too. They don't call our sister's husband Hector the Ferocious for no reason, but he suits Cristina perfectly, which just goes to show that we don't always know best. She certainly never imagined that her marriage to him would be a good one, but it is."

"So now you're trying to tell me that I should listen to Father, as she did?"

Isobel sobered. "Not just Father, Adela. I agree you'd be unwise to return straightaway to the Highlands if you have to cast yourself on the hospitality of the new Lord Ardelve. We scarcely know Fergus, but Lady Clendenen tells me he is marrying soon, and she doubts his bride will welcome you even if he does. She is dreadfully homely, Lady Clendenen says."

"Ardelve said the same," Adela said, remembering. "He also told me she is an heiress, which recommended her highly to him as a wife for Fergus."

"Aye, well, the Macleod sisters have made good marriages, too."

"I'm beginning to believe I'm not meant to marry," Adela said as they crossed the stair hall. "Only look at what has happened each time I've tried."

Isobel grimaced. "Sakes, Adela, you are always the sensible one. Only think what you would say to Sidony or to me if we were to say such a thing."

"I know," Adela said, catching up her skirts in one hand and lightly touching the stone wall with the other as they went up the winding stairway. "Odd how one's advice to others so frequently differs from one's own behavior, is it not?"

Isobel's laughter echoed in the stairwell. "I'll leave you here," she said when they reached the first landing. "I want to see to my wee laddie, and Isabella expects me to return soon to bid our guests farewell. She said to tell you that you need not dine with everyone at midday unless you want to. Most will not expect to see you."

"Then I'll stay away," Adela said gratefully.

"Mayhap we can talk this afternoon," Isobel said. "I promise I'll not offer advice unless you request it, but if you'd like to talk just to sort your thoughts, I'd be happy to listen."

Thanking her without promising anything, Adela went on up the stairs past her own chamber to the next level, where the little chamber was that Hugo used when he stayed at Roslin. It faced another room across the stone landing one level below the doorway to the ramparts.

When Hugo had lived at Roslin before his marriage, the chamber had served as his bedchamber. Now, he used it as an office of sorts, and since he had headed that way and had not returned through the hall, she hoped to find him there.

That portion of the stairway was usually dark. But enough pale gray light spilled down the stairs to tell her that a door must be open above her. Since she still had some distance to go before reaching the door to the ramparts and wall walk, hope stirred that the door to Sir Hugo's chamber was open. If so, he was there.

As the thought formed, she heard men's voices, oddly distorted as they wafted through the stone stairwell. She recognized Hugo's at once.

She could not tell what he was saying at first. But two steps more and his voice grew clear just as he said, "… murdered, and not just Sir Ian but Will, too."

She heard a murmur, and as it occurred to her that she had chosen a poor time to approach Hugo, the other said gruffly with a thick Borders accent, "Then I trow ye mun be thinking we'll ha' to put an end to Einar Logan, as weel."

"I'm afraid so," Hugo agreed, his voice sounding nearer.