Chapter 1

Roslin Castle, Midlothian, May 1380

Smile, Adela. A bride should look happy on her wedding day!"

Lady Adela Macleod turned slightly to face her younger sister, Sorcha, who was certainly beaming brightly enough for both of them. But although she tried to obey the command, she knew the attempt was feeble at best.

She had hoped that her second wedding, unlike her first, might proceed without undue fuss or drama. But although she could still hope to avoid the sort of drama that had attended her first one, there had already been far more fuss and ado than she liked, and she knew that before the day was over, there would be more.

Not only were there now two brides and bridegrooms instead of a single couple but when one's hostess was a powerful countess in her own right, one had to expect such an occasion to merit extraordinary pomp and circumstance. And when one's younger sister had married the countess's favorite nephew by declaration little more than a sennight ago, one could scarcely cavil when the fond aunt one's own fond parent insisted on a double wedding to sanctify both marriages properly.

But even her father, Macleod of Glenelg, whose word was law back home in the Highlands, had had little if any say in today's wedding plans—not that he had tried to interfere, for he had not. Nor had Adela expected him to, because the royal court was in residence less than ten miles away in Edinburgh, and he was himself planning soon to wed a widow in comfortable circumstances, which included a fine house in that royal burgh.

Adela had therefore understood from the outset that she must expect a larger, grander wedding than that first attempt, which had taken place in the Highlands just weeks after the death of the first Lord of the Isles. Nonetheless, the result exceeded anything she might have anticipated, because Isabella, Countess of Strathearn and Caithness, and the rest of the powerful Sinclair family had spared no expense to arrange a truly splendid affair. Adela had not mourned the lack of splendor on that first occasion, but after all her hosts' effort and expense, she thought it a great pity that she could not seem to stir up more enthusiasm for this one.

As she waited near the elegant little chapel's entrance with Macleod and the other members of the wedding party for the select, noble audience crammed into the chamber to quiet down, she wondered why she did not care more. After all, other than the much larger group of friends, kinsmen, and others unable to squeeze into the chapel but assembling now in the castle's great hall for the wedding feast to come, nothing but the setting had changed—except for Sorcha's role, of course, and Sir Hugo Robison's presence today at Sorcha's side.

Adela's bridegroom remained the same, and a generous, kind man Ardelve was, too. He was fond of her and would make few demands with which she would not willingly comply. So far, he had asked only that she run his large household in Kintail, near her own home, a responsibility with duties familiar enough that she expected to manage them easily and to enjoy them far more than she had the years of running her father's much less manageable household and family.

Although Sorcha frequently said that Ardelve was too old and too pompous to make a good husband, Adela liked him. To be sure, he was nearly as old as her father, had been twice married and widowed, and had a grown son older than she was. But his children had raised no objection to the marriage, and his cousin, Lady Clendenen, the wealthy widow whom Macleod intended to marry, waited now in the front row, with an approving smile, for the ceremony to begin. As a result, Adela believed her marriage to Ardelve would be as happy as anyone could wish. So what, she asked herself, was wrong with her? Why did she not feel something?

So lost in her thoughts was she that when Sorcha touched her arm, she started, noting at once that her sister's beaming smile had faded to a worried frown.

"Do pinch your cheeks," Sorcha said. "You look as pale as chalk. Is aught amiss? Are you feeling sick?"

"Nay, all is well," Adela said.

"You don't look it," Sorcha replied with her usual candor.

"Easy, lass," Sir Hugo said, laying a gently restraining hand on her shoulder.

Not, Adela mused, that anyone—even Hugo—could restrain her sister unless Sorcha chose to allow it.

Hugo smiled as he said to her, "Doubtless you are recalling the last occasion, my lady. But no raiders will interrupt today's festivities. That I promise you."

Politely if automatically returning his smile, Adela said, "I have no such fear, sir." She could hardly tell him she felt nothing at all, that it was as if she were in a dream, disembodied, watching someone else about to walk to the altar.

The look that crossed Sir Hugo's handsome face then nearly matched the deepening frown on Sorcha's. Adela saw his hand increase its pressure on her sister's shoulder, as if he sensed without looking at her that she was about to speak.

For a wonder, Sorcha kept silent.

Hugo said quietly, "You should not wonder if you do not feel the usual bride's excitement, Lady Adela. After the experience you suffered last time, it must be only natural to feel reservations now. Sithee, I have seen similar reactions in men after a battle, and I warrant it must be much the same way for you now as for them."

"Pray, sir, do not concern yourself," she said mildly. "I cannot imagine how what happened last time could possibly match aught that occurs in battle. I suffered no injury, after all. Indeed, I do not believe he would ever have harmed me."

Hugo grimaced but did not contradict her aloud, saying only, "I think the piper is about to begin playing."

Macleod, who had stood quietly, taking no part in the conversation, said, "Aye, he is, lass, so take my arm. We're to go first, ye ken, after your maidens."

She and Sorcha had four bride-maidens for this wedding, although they barely knew three of them. The one they did know was their youngest sister, Sidony, blue-eyed and fair, looking beautifully serene as she waited for the piper to begin. Two of the other bride-maidens were Sir Hugo's younger sisters, Katharine and Margaret Robison. The remaining one was another niece of Countess Isabella's.

Since Sorcha and Sir Hugo were already legally married, having taken advantage of the ancient Scottish tradition of simply declaring themselves husband and wife, they would walk together to the altar. Sorcha had said she couldn't imagine why they need marry again, but Countess Isabella had declared that she intended to see them properly wedded by her own priest, and that had been that.

When the piping began, the four bride-maidens went single file up the narrow aisle between the flanking rows of standing guests. When the maidens had taken their places, two on each side of the steps leading to the altar, where Ardelve and Isabella's chaplain waited, Adela put her hand on the arm her father extended to her. To the accompaniment of the piper's tune, they proceeded slowly up the aisle to meet her bridegroom.

Though only a few years younger than her father, Ardelve was a handsomer, more dignified-looking man with a neatly trimmed beard and grizzled dark hair. For the occasion, he wore a high-crowned, white-plumed hat, a cut-black-velvet, sable-trimmed robe belted over parti-colored hose, and fashionable pointed-toe shoes. Standing straight and proud beside Isabella's chaplain, he watched his bride walk toward him, and when his gaze met Adela's, he smiled.

She replied with the same fixed smile she had summoned up for Sir Hugo but kept her gaze fixed on Ardelve, wanting to avoid meeting the eye of any onlooker. She had small inclination just then for polite gestures and wanted only to have the ceremony and the subsequent feasting well behind her.

She reached the halfway point aware only of her hand on Macleod's arm and of Ardelve's face before her. Then, an abrupt movement to her right and the clink-clink of something falling to the chapel's flagstone floor caught her attention.

Turning her head, she looked straight into the jade-green eyes of one of the handsomest men she had ever beheld.

He had finely chiseled features, smooth chestnut hair that curled slightly at the ends, broad shoulders, a tapered waist, and muscular, well-turned legs, the three latter features displayed to advantage in an expertly cut forest-green velvet doublet and smooth golden-yellow silk hose.

He had begun to bend down, so he had certainly dropped something. But whatever it was lay where it had fallen, because as Adela's gaze collided with his, he froze where he was. Then, slowly he straightened, his gaze still locked with hers.

His remarkable green eyes began to twinkle. Then, impudently, he winked.

Startled, she wrenched her gaze away and sought Ardelve again, relaxing when she saw him still smiling calmly. She did not look away again.

The piping stopped when she reached the shallow steps near the front of the chapel, leading up to four kneeling stools awaiting the two bridal couples.

"Who gives this woman to be wed to this man?" the chaplain inquired.

"I, Macleod o' Glenelg, the lassie's father," Macleod said clearly.

The priest beckoned to Adela, and releasing her father's forearm, she went up the steps to stand beside Ardelve. Sorcha and Hugo followed, taking their places to her left. All four faced the altar and Isabella's chaplain.

The audience was silent for a long moment before the chaplain said, "I be bound to ask first if there be any amongst ye here today who kens any just cause or impediment to a marriage betwixt Baron Ardelve and the lady Adela Macleod. If anyone does, pray speak now or forever hold your peace."

Adela shut her eyes, for it had been at this very point in her first attempt to marry Ardelve that the interruption had occurred.

Today, aside from some brief shuffling, silence reigned.

The priest did not ask the same question with regard to Sorcha and Sir Hugo, as the two of them were merely sanctifying an already existing union.

Adela was glad to note that they seemed blissfully happy. She had seen them only once since their declaration, because they had removed to Hawthornden Castle, a mile up Roslin Glen, immediately after Hugo had declared them married. Three days afterward, she had accompanied Isobel, Sidony, and the countess to pay them a bridal visit, but she had not seen either since then until that very morning.

Isobel, who was now Sir Michael Sinclair's wife and thus daughter-by-marriage to the countess, stood in the audience with her husband. But with time so short, their other three sisters Cristina, Maura, and Kate were at home with their families, Cristina on the Isle of Mull and the other two in the Highlands.

When the chaplain spoke Adela's name, she wrenched her attention back to the ceremony, responding as he bade her, and doing so calmly and clearly. The double ceremony was mercifully brief, and if the nuptial mass that followed was longer, at least she could recite her responses by rote and would not have to think.

When the priest declared them husbands and wives in the sight of God, Ardelve took Adela's hand warmly in his and did not let go until they were offered the bread and wine for communion. After that, the Mass soon came to an end and Adela found herself hoping no one would ask what she had been thinking about or if she had enjoyed it, because the entire service had registered no more than a blank passage of time in her mind.

Isabella did not allow the bridal couples to linger but whisked them off to the great hall to receive their guests and begin the wedding feast.

Music and laughter greeted them long before they entered, for the festivities had already begun. Musicians in the minstrels' gallery played lively music until the bridal party appeared in the doorway, at which time Isabella's chamberlain stepped forward and in stentorian accents announced both couples:

"My lords, my ladies, and all others in the chamber, pray stand to make welcome Lord and Lady Ardelve, Sir Hugo Robison, and Lady Robison!"

Amid the cheering and resumption of music, Adela noted that a clear space in the center of the hall stood ready for the jugglers, acrobats, dancers, and other entertainers Isabella had hired to perform during the feast.

As she and the others skirted that clearing, Ardelve bent his head close to her ear and murmured, "I would speak privately with you, my lady wife, afore we feast. Isabella has kindly offered us her solar, if you will oblige me."

"Aye, sure, my lord, as you wish," she said, hoping she had not already done something to vex him. She remembered the man with green eyes but quickly dismissed that possibility. Ardelve had displayed no indication that he might be either a possessive husband or a jealous one.

They crossed the crowded dais, moving around the long high table that would soon groan under the weight of many gold and silver platters and trays of food, and jugs of whisky and wine—not to mention the guests' goblets and trenchers that were already in place—to a door in the center of the wall beyond it.

With a deep bow, a Sinclair gillie opened the door for them.

Nodding to the lad to shut it behind them, Ardelve guided Adela a little away from it before he said gently and without preamble, "One hesitates to speak to a lady about her looks, my dear, but all this splendor appears to have worn you to the bone. If you wish to retire, I would willingly make our adieux and depart at once."

" 'Tis kind of you to offer, sir, but it would be most unkind of us, not to mention ungrateful, to cut short the celebration after Countess Isabella has put so much effort into all these preparations to honor us."

"Faugh," he said. "Isabella does what she does for Isabella or for Roslin. In truth, I am a trifle weary myself, but if you are sure you are feeling quite well…"

"I am, sir," she said. "I am a little tired, perhaps, but no more than that."

He looked searchingly at her for a long moment, then said quietly, "If it is any relief to your mind, I will tell you that you have naught to fear from me tonight or any other. If you prefer to have time to adjust to our marriage before taking up all your wifely duties, I will certainly understand. I am in no great hurry, myself, and would understand your preference for a more peaceful place to get to know your husband. Do you understand my meaning, Adela?"

"Aye, sir, I do," she said, aware that she was blushing. "My sister Isobel explained what my duties will be. You are very kind, sir, to be sure, but I do want children, and I have no objection to taking up my wifely duties whenever it shall please you. Indeed, if you do not want to stay now, that is quite another matter."

He patted her hand. "I am content," he said. "You are quite right to think of everyone who has worked so hard to provide our wedding feast."

"I do look forward to returning very soon to the peace of the Highlands, sir."

He smiled then. She thought his smile a particularly charming one and responded to it with her own first entirely natural smile of the day. No matter that Sorcha thought she was making a great mistake. Sorcha, after all, had married Hugo, a man who always wanted his own way and made no secret of that fact.

Since Sorcha's nature was much the same in that respect, Adela could not doubt that sparks often flew between them. With Ardelve, she was certain that she would enjoy a far more peaceful, and thus a more comfortable, life.

He rested a hand on her shoulder. Then, as she turned back toward the door, he lowered his hand to the small of her back, and she was astonished at how reassuring it felt as they moved to rejoin the boisterous company. When she took her place at the high table next to Sorcha, in one of the four central places of honor on the long side facing the lower hall, Adela was still quietly congratulating herself on her wise decision to marry Ardelve.

Members of the Sinclair family comprised much of the company on the dais: Countess Isabella stood to Ardelve's right with her eldest son, Prince Henry Sinclair, the owner of Roslin Castle, on her right. Lady Clendenen and Macleod stood beyond Henry, with an empty space at Macleod's right. Sorcha stood to Adela's left with Sir Hugo beyond. Isobel stood on Sir Hugo's left, Sir Michael on hers, and then came Hugo's father, Sir Edward Robison, flanked by a daughter on one side and an empty space on the other. They faced the rest of the wedding guests who had gathered around trestle tables set lengthwise in rows around the lower hall clearing.

After the countess's chaplain had spoken the grace before meat, the company noisily took their seats, the carvers entered, and Adela sat quietly, speaking only when someone spoke to her. At one point, she caught sight of the handsome young man she had noticed in the chapel, speaking to one of Sir Hugo's sisters. She thought it was the older one, Katharine, but their gowns and veils were much the same, and the two girls were nearly the same height, so she could not be sure.

Glancing past Sorcha at Sir Hugo, she was not surprised to see his frowning, intent gaze fixed on the couple. She was certain he must be a most protective brother and had little doubt that he would have stern words for his sister. She sighed. To think that her own sisters had once expected her to marry Hugo!

Turning to Ardelve, she smiled, then shifted slightly to allow a gillie to pour wine into her goblet. She reached for it but pulled her hand back in almost the same movement when she remembered that there would be toasting.

Beside her, Ardelve said, "Go ahead and take a sip or two, lass. No one will mind. The carver is flashing his knives, but the ceremonial nonsense has only just begun. They'll be parading platters of food from one end of this hall to the other for some time yet, so I'd advise you to take a few bites of bread with your wine, too."

Another gillie, overhearing, instantly offered rolls from a basket, and Adela took one gratefully, breaking a bite-size piece off and eating it before she tasted her wine. It was fine claret, she was sure, but her sense of taste seemed to have deserted her along with the rest of her senses.

Ardelve, too, sipped wine, and when the ceremonial presentation of dishes had ended at last, buffered on one side by her sister and the other by her husband, Adela was able to eat her meal in peace. Gillies kept food and wine flowing, and the company was an appropriately merry one. She began to relax and soon realized the claret was a bit heady for one who rarely drank more than half a goblet of any wine.

At her left, Sorcha chatted merrily with Hugo, doubtless most improperly, too. Adela had noted that the two of them seemed to talk about any subject that entered their heads, and she could not approve. People—ladies, at least—should display more decorum. But she had long since stopped trying to persuade Sorcha of that.

"Where is Sidony?" she asked when Sorcha turned to her. "I saw her earlier in the chapel, of course, but I've not seen her since we came into the hall."

"I'll wager she went upstairs to look in on our new nephew," Sorcha said with a grin. "She spends more time with him than with anyone else, and you can see for yourself that Isobel is quite calm and relaxed. Had wee William Robert been lying alone upstairs all this time, you can be sure she would be fidgeting by now." She turned to a passing gillie and asked him to pour her some more wine.

"Dearling, you should have let Hugo give him the order," Adela said gently.

"He is busy talking to his sister Kate," Sorcha said.

Adela realized that Hugo must have somehow summoned Katharine, because Isobel had shifted to a seat beside Sir Edward, and Katharine was taking the seat beside Hugo. Adela saw, too, that Katharine was indeed the one who had been flirting with the handsome stranger. Trust Hugo, a notorious flirt himself, to call his sister to order for engaging in a similar practice. Kate looked annoyed, too, as well she might, Adela mused, recalling that she herself had once emptied a basin of holy water over Hugo's head when she had heard more than enough of his lecturing.

Recalling again that many folks had expected her to marry him, and that she had once sincerely contemplated the possibility, she wondered at herself. She liked him very much, to be sure. He was handsome, charming, and a famous swordsman, but he had an annoying tendency to order people about, and she preferred not to have orders flung at her. Sorcha dealt with him better than she ever would have.

Ardelve would suit her much better, Adela told herself yet again. She would live close to her own home and would be able to see old friends and family whenever she liked, and Ardelve was wealthy enough to provide every comfort.

She turned to smile at him again.

He was staring at his goblet as if he considered refilling it, but he seemed to sense her gaze, for he turned his head and smiled at her. "You are so beautiful," he said. "I believe I am quite the most fortunate of—"

To her shock, his face seemed to freeze, except for his lips, which opened once or twice as if he gasped for words to finish his sentence. Then, just as she realized that he was gasping for air, he slumped awkwardly against Isabella, and as the countess exclaimed and tried to hold him, Ardelve collapsed to the floor.

Adela stared at him in shock.

"Sakes, I didn't think he was even in his cups," Sorcha exclaimed.

"He isn't," Hugo said, leaping quickly to his feet.

"Adela," the countess said in a quiet but firm voice, "turn away, my dear, and attempt to compose yourself. It will not do to cause any great stir. Indeed, I am sure this is naught that should distress you."

"His eyes are open, but I do not think he sees me," Adela said without looking away.

Hugo was kneeling beside Ardelve. After only a cursory examination, he looked up at her and said gently, "I'm sorry, lass. I'm afraid he's dead."

Adela gasped, and tears sprang to her eyes.

Isabella signed at once to the minstrels in the gallery, and the music grew louder. Startled, Adela turned her head in time to see jugglers running to the clearing in the center of the lower hall.

As she began to turn back to Ardelve, she saw that although nearly everyone below had turned to watch the jugglers, one person at least had not.

The man with the jade green eyes was looking straight at her.

THE DISH