Chapter 27

Twenty-Seven

As the bells rang Prime, Elspeth awoke to find herself alone in the bed she'd shared with her husband.

Her bed.

His bed.

She was the lady of Aldergh.

For a long moment, she lay contentedly, until she remembered and rolled out of bed with a gasp.

It wouldn't do for her ladies to think her a lie-abed, and she wanted to make a good impression. After nearly a sennight in the saddle, she was certain her blue dress needed a good cleaning. In a hurry, plucking up the rose-colored gown she'd set aside, she dressed quickly, with the intent of attending morning prayers before breaking fast.

More than anything she wanted to show these good folks that there was naught for them to worry over merely because she possessed talents they did not understand—of course, neither did she intend to broadcast her affiliations or her Craft. Malcom would prefer it that way. In good time, they would come to know her, and in the meantime, Elspeth wanted them to know beyond a shadow of doubt that their lady supported their love for the Church.

She realized, of course, this was not Llanthony, but she still wanted to be sure the souls of her people were well cared for. It was such a great responsibility that Malcom had given her and she would rise to the task with joy.

Hurrying so she wouldn't be late, she left the pale-blue gown to be laundered, rushing down the stairs.

Later, when she had the opportunity she would teach her ladies the wonders of simples. She would take stock of what she had in her garden and plant what was necessary—tansy, perhaps, and lavender and pennyroyal to rid the house of flies, moths and fleas; cloves and sandalwood for all their bed linens; sweet bags filled with orris root, red rose petals, marjoram and sweet basil to sweeten the coffers; sage, basil and rosemary for hand-washing at the table; and mint and vinegar to sweeten the breath—which, by the way, she wished desperately that she had right now.

Testing her breath discreetly behind a hand, she rushed down the stairs, more than prepared to greet the day as the lady of her house. In fact, she was beside herself with joy, even despite her lingering malaise, and she was mired in thought, trying to interpret her vision of Merry Bells when she was set upon by Cora at the bottom of the stairs.

"There you are, m'lady!"

Quite pleased to see the maid, Elspeth gave the woman a smile and a hug, then smoothed her skirts, and bent to put a finger inside the back of her slipper to straighten the fold that was gnawing at her heel.

For the first time in her life, she had shoes—fine shoes—soft and plush and pressed with silk. "Good morning, Cora! Have you need of me?"

"Yes, m'lady."

Elspeth's cheeks warmed. "I fear I slept too late, but you must realize, you are always welcome to call at my chamber."

Cora smiled warmly. "Thank ye, m'lady. Alas, m'lord bade us not to wake ye. He said ye were too weary and to leave you abed sleeping."

"Ah, well, I must thank him for that," Elspeth said, smiling. "But, next time, if you have need of me, I must insist you come to me at once—never mind what my lord says. After all, I am now your lady, and you are my kinsmen and I will never put my sleep over your needs. How thoughtless would that be?"

The maid's smile brightened all the more. "Bless you, lady! You have my word; I will do so if I must. Alas, but now, you must hurry to the hall. M'lord's kinsman will be departing anon and he's taking Wee Davie wi' him. M'lord wishes you've had a moment to greet them."

"Oh," said Elspeth, with a bit of surprise. "He did not tell me." She had no idea at all that he had a kinsman in the house, or who in the name of the Goddess Wee Davie was! Rather, she'd thought he had an emissary from Scotia's king.

But, of course, with all her own problems, they'd spoken so little about his household, and she now, faced with her lateness to break her fast, she felt guilty about that.

"I am quite certain he did not wish to trouble you, m'lady. I dinna believe his council went very well." She gave Elspeth a twisted, worried face. "My girls were talking all about it this morn, and for that, I beg your pardon. I gave them a good speakin' to and they know better than to gossip aboot the things they hear in our lord's council."

"I see," Elspeth said, wondering why Malcom did not speak to her of any of this last night.

But, of course, she knew why. She had sorely tempted him with that chainse she'd worn, and no doubt it was her fault he'd been distracted. The very thought of it made her blush. "And where are they now?"

"In the hall, breaking fast, m'lady. M'lord will be expectin' ye."

"Thank you, Cora."

Nervous, but curious nonetheless, Elspeth left the maid and hurried down into the hall, finding the morning meal sparsely attended. But, of course, the morning prayers were not yet over. Thankfully, she didn't have to look far to find her husband. He was seated upon the dais, at the lord's table. He spied her at once, waving her in, having saved her the seat of honor beside him.

Elspeth hurried over, smiling and nodding to all who greeted her. "Good morn," she said to a servant girl. And to Rhoslyn as she passed, "Good morning."

"Good morning, my lady," said Rhoslyn.

And even before she'd sat her bottom in the chair beside Malcom, Cora's daughter Ellyn swept a plate full of sop in vin down before her—toasted bread with wine—and Elspeth noticed with some surprise that there was also a child at the table.

"Hallooo," said the boy she remembered from yesterday. He waved at Elspeth and Elspeth waved back. "I'm Davie."

"Halloo, Davie. I am Elspeth."

He shoved a fat slice of toast into his mouth and said with a full gob, "Yah, I ken. I'da been pleased to know ye better, lady, but my Da says we gots important business to attend at Carlisle and we'll be leaving now, I suppose."

His father—or at least the man she assumed to be his father—tipped Elspeth a nod. "My lady," he said. "Ye're as bonny as my cousin said, and I've never seen that fellow so besotted. You must have bewitched him."

Elspeth blinked. She opened her mouth to speak as Malcom's arm slid around her waist, and she inhaled a breath, grateful for his presence, although the reference to witchery befuddled her. She turned a wary smile to Malcom.

He squeezed her waist reassuringly, answering his cousin. "Of course she's bewitched me, ye oaf. But no less than your Cailin did, and ye pined like a puppy far too long. At least I knew what I wanted and seized the opportunity when it presented itself."

And then he turned to the wee boy, without giving his cousin a chance to respond. "I'm sure your mother's eager to see you, Wee Davie. Dinna forget the bow I gae ye, and I'll be expecting a big fat cony when I come visit. D' ye remember what I taught you?"

The boy nodded excitedly. "Practice close-range with eyes closed."

"There ye go," Malcom said. "Dinna forget."

"Ye'll ha'e the boy clipping the king's arse with that advice," said the other man seated to the cousin's left. All three men laughed, and Elspeth chuckled.

"Uncle Mal… when will ye come visit?" said Wee Davie, though his gaze lingered on Elspeth.

"Soon," Malcom said.

The boy's father scratched the back of his head. "We'll be hoping you mean that," he said, and then he turned to Elspeth, saying, "My Lady, clearly, ye're husband has the manners of a boor. I am Cameron MacKinnon and I've known this rude fellow since he was a boy fresh off his father's knee." And then he turned to the man beside him, introducing him as well. "Caden Mac Swein," he said. "From Inverness."

"Inverness?" Elspeth said.

Caden nodded. "An' ye're welcome tae visit any time, my lady. I've three lassies of my own, and a wee boy the same age as Davie here. My wife would welcome the company."

Elspeth turned to her husband and said, "It would please me to know them."

"We'll see," said Malcom curtly, and he cast both men a narrow-eyed glance. Elspeth sensed the underlying tension.

Caden Mac Swein forced a smile. "The offer stands," he said, and for the remainder of the meal, they shared a lively enough conversation—lively enough that one might never have known these men were at odds. But Elspeth felt the strain. It was subtle but certain. It prickled the hairs at the back of her nape, though she didn't have a feeling of danger… not precisely.

"So, then, how's that filly o' yours?" Cameron asked, and her husband stiffened, giving his cousin an odd glance.

"She fares well enough… so long as you stay clear of her. I've already lost two without any help."

"Aye well, mayhap if ye'd stop naming them sae morbidly ye'd better keep one." And the look that passed between them after that was… unpleasant. It didn't take a witch to sense the ill will between them, but Elspeth didn't comprehend any of the undercurrents of their conversation.

Wee Davie said, looking straight at Elspeth, "Uncle Mal ga'e me a bow."

"Very good," she said.

"It's a Welsh bow. He brought it all the way from Wales. Said he nicked it from some Welshman."

"Oh," said Elspeth, frowning. Sometimes it was too easy to forget who Malcom was—a mercenary for his king. And now she wondered who it was that had died in Wales to give up that bow his nephew so innocently exulted over. It was a gentle reminder that, no, all was not precisely well. No matter how she felt about Malcom, there were troubles yet to come. And… there was that vision she'd of Merry Bells that made her fear trouble was closer than it seemed.

Elspeth blinked as last night's imagery flashed before her eyes. Merry Bells… her coat turning red… but then she remembered something else about her vision… something that hadn't stood out to her last night, because she'd not known Cameron then. It was his livery… or more precisely the sigil emblazoned on the front… a red lion, rampant on a yellow field with a maxim that read: Nimo Me Impune Lacessit. If she remembered correctly, that was the sigil of the Scot's king. So, if David or Cameron could be the man holding the longbow… could the raven be her mother?

Really, she was ill-practiced at interpretation. And she really hadn't a clue about Merry Bells, or what the blood in her vision portended—or even what Cameron's part in this should be… but she suddenly had a sense down in her bones that Morwen was coming to Aldergh. And, when she considered that, she realized that, somehow, Malcom's cousin was the means to defeat her. But how? What did it all mean?

Disheartened, and heavy-hearted, she leaned back, letting the men talk amongst themselves.

So much for putting her attention into her household. Evidently, until the matter with Morwen was settled, there would be no starting over.

The men were still conversing, but Elspeth was no longer listening. She only wished her visions could be more specific, instead of leaving her with a puzzle to decipher.

She knew that Merry Bells was named after a dog… could the cousins' strife somehow be connected?

Malcom had said he'd lost two already—did he mean he'd lost two horses both bearing the same name?

Cameron said he must stop naming animals so morbidly. What did that have to do with the man on horseback with the longbow? Anything?

Meeting the little boy's gaze, watching him chew his meal with his mouth open, while he watched her curiously, Elspeth picked at a fingernail.

The two visions didn't necessarily have to be connected, but if Morwen was the raven perched on Aldergh's tower… mayhap the man with the longbow was equally symbolic—King David, perhaps?

So, obviously, her mother was a threat to Aldergh… but the raven wasn't flying in… it was already there… which meant… the threat was not imminent but immediate. Suddenly, her heart thumped with fear. Was Morwen already here?

It was entirely possible. They had not precisely traveled at great speed. Malcom had taken his time, reluctant to push Merry Bells after the trek to Wales and back…

Elspeth frowned suddenly. Malcom believed he could protect her, but Elspeth knew better. There was no way any one person alone could defeat her mother—save possibly Rhiannon—and there must be a reason Rhiannon had insisted Elspeth ride north. Why? What could Elspeth do differently here than she might do elsewhere?

The key must be Malcom and his connection to—and then it occurred to her… it was David. Despite all his waffling, she was quite certain David supported Matilda. But Malcom had long ago broken faith with his kinsmen. As the lord of Aldergh, he served Stephen faithfully—unless…

"Isn't that right, Lady Aldergh?"

Elspeth looked up from her musing, confused. "What?"

Malcom's look was one of concern, and Elspeth wondered if perhaps he'd recognized the fact that she'd had another premonition. A very disconcerting notion was suddenly closing in all about her, dark and oppressive, like storm clouds descending. "Art well, Elspeth?"

"Oh, yes," she said, turning to address Cameron as calmly as she was able. "So… are you returning to Carlisle?"

"Aye, my lady. We leave within the hour."

"And the king… is… there?"

Cameron smiled, a boyish grin he shared with Malcom. "Which king?" he asked pleasantly. "Yours or mine?"

Humor escaped her this morning. "David," Elspeth said.

Caden Mac Swein looked guardedly at Cameron, then cockeyed at Malcom. Malcom arched a brow in answer.

"My king is, indeed, in residence at Carlisle," Cameron replied.

There was a feeling Elspeth got when the pieces of her intuition began to meld together. She had that feeling now. And equally as intuitively she knew that even if she could convince Malcom to understand her vision, she wasn't at all certain he would agree with her interpretation—or, more importantly, put aside his pride long enough to seek help from someone who was not his sovereign.

With a clarity unlike any she'd ever known before, Elspeth realized what her role must be in her crusade for Matilda—and to save her husband.

In helping Elspeth, Malcom had lain down a gauntlet before Morwen, and Morwen would stop at naught until she crushed him, no matter where his loyalties lay. It didn't matter how well-intended he'd been or to whom he swore his allegiance. Like it or not, Malcom had already made a choice, and lest he embrace it now, his cause would be lost. Even now, her mother could be out there.

Right now.

Elspeth didn't have time to explain her suspicions. Nor did she intend to allow Malcom to prevent her from doing what she must—particularly if it meant she must commit treason. It was better he didn't know.

With gooseflesh prickling at her limbs, she rose from her seat at the table, and said with a forced smile, "Pardon me, lords." And she hurried away before anyone could stop her. She ran all the way up the stairs, taking the narrow steps two at a time, and rushed into the solar, where she'd discovered a desk yesterday. She hurried to the desk, taking up the quill she found there, then looked about for a slip of parchment—anything. She found one beneath a paper weight, dipped the quill into the ink pot, and, hoping her husband would find it in his heart to forgive her for what she was about to do, she wrote, with bold firm lines:

To David mac Maíl Choluim, King of Scots

If your conscience be true, I am certain you'll not soon forget me. I swear by the love we both bear my sister Matilda, you have impugned the wrong woman. Morwen le Fae is the realm's true enemy and she arrives here forthwith. You must come to our defense.

Subscribed and sealed this thirtieth day of May… by me…

Elspeth swallowed her pride, but not her self-worth. She knew full well David would come after receiving her letter and warning. He was a very pious man, and he wanted to reveal Morwen no less than Matilda did—no less than Elspeth did. Alas, she could never forgive him for his part in the death of her grandmother, and she wanted him to know precisely where her heart lay. She signed her letter:

Elspeth, lady of Aldergh, loving daughter of your beloved Henry and granddaughter of the late Morgan Pendragon, lady of Blackwood, daughter of Avalon.

Once she was done, Elspeth rolled the parchment, untied her handfasting ribbon and tied the parchment with her ribbon, then she hurried down the stairs, to the stables, realizing time was of the essence.