Chapter Nine

Something moved high on the castle wall. A bird? A shadow?

Liam peered through the screen of autumn-bare trees and walked toward the edge of the forest. Dawn was coming in gray and dim, promising a cold day with rain, even snow. He had come back to this place in darkness, planning to hail the castle once the portcullis opened. Gilchrist and Finley were to meet him here but had not yet arrived. They would find his horse tied to a tree, nosing about to breakfast on grasses.

His nail-soled boots crunched on the frosted, fallen leaves as he walked. He patted Roc's head as the dog moved quietly beside him. A scatter of birds left the trees as he made his way toward the steep hill that supported the massive fortress.

Roc gave a low, breathy woof, and froze, watching through the trees. Something had his attention. Liam looked, hardly believing his eyes.

A fat rope had been slung out a high window, and someone clung to it, moving down. With a surprised huff, Liam walked closer, blinking in surprise.

A girl, climbing down a rope of linens. Liam's heart lurched in fear for her. She was slight, determined, and could fall to her death at any moment. Slowly he began to ascend the slope, not wanting to be seen, not wanting to startle her.

Reaching the ridge, he saw a litter of things on the ground—bags, a cloak, a small boot. Pausing there, he looked up. The wind pushed the girl's rope and belled his cloak. She must be desperate to do this.

Well, no lass would break her neck on his watch, he thought. "Roc, stay," he murmured. Boots crunching over snow, he walked to stand just beneath her, looking up. The rope dangled out a familiar window. The master's chamber. He narrowed his eyes.

Jesu,he thought. It could not be. Yet, seeing the young woman's pale braid furl outward, seeing her lithe form, her determination, he knew she was Lady Tamsin.

He had come here to find her, and here she was, swinging not twenty feet above his head. Divine timing for both, should the lass fall. He waited.

She paused to look down. The rope spun a little. Her feet had come to rest on the last knot. There was still a good height between that knot and the ground. Liam sighed and lifted his arms.

"Down to me." He spoke calmly, wanting to reassure rather than startle.

Swaying, she gazed down at him. Light spread across the sky, glossed the snow, kissed her gray gown and her long blond plait. Liam beckoned. "Come down."

"I cannot." She looked up, then down. "I will fall."

"I will catch you." He opened his gloved hands.

"You will summon the guards."

"You are safe. I give you my word." Even hushed, his voice sounded too loud.

She swayed. "Who are you?"

"Jump." He beckoned. "Do not fear."

"If I was fearful, I would not be on this rope."

"True." He widened his arms. "Jump!"

She let go.

Liam sank to his knees as the girl filled his arms, her weight less burden than the force of her fall. Swathed in skirts, she was trim and light. Gasping, she clung to him, head on his shoulder. Bracing a hand on the ground, he rose to his feet holding her.

"There," he said, as relieved as she must be. "There."

She pushed away, found her feet, stepped back. "Thank you, sir. I am fine." Turning to pick up her scattered things, she stumbled and fell to a knee.

Liam grabbed her arm. "Go easy."

"I must hurry." She glanced up at the castle walls. "They will come after me."

"No one has seen you, I think. Come with me." He gestured down the slope toward the forest.

She stepped back. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

He knew her. But then he realized that she did not recognize the harper, seeing a knight in chain mail, a stranger, a threat. But there was no time to explain. Silently he picked up her things—two bags, a cloak, a narrow boot.

Draping the cloak over her shivering shoulders, he braced her arm while she hopped to pull and lace the boot. Then he tossed the bags on his shoulder—one had real weight to it—and led her down the slope.

"Careful, the hill is icy." He took her arm, balancing her baggage on one shoulder. Roc, pacing and eager, ran toward them and went straight to the girl rather than Liam.

Astonished, he watched his dog nudge her as if greeting a friend. If he rose on his hind legs, he might knock her over. Liam steadied her.

"Roc, down! Good lad." He reached out to pat the dog as she did, their hands meeting, his gloved, hers pink and raw from climbing in the cold. "I apologize," Liam said. "He would pull you over just to show he is glad to meet you."

"He is friendly," she said. Roc licked her hand and woofed in delight. "Perhaps he smells my dog on me and my clothing. He is very like my dog," she added, reaching out to pat him.

"He is not usually this friendly with a stranger, so it may be that he has the scent of your hound. You must tell me about yours," he added. The mention of a dog inside Dalrinnie caught his keen attention. "Down, Roc. This way, my lady."

"My lady? Do you know me?"

He was glad for the shadow of his coif and hood. "Would a serving maid slide out a window on silken sheets? Or wear a fine embroidered gown? Good Lord," he said, shouldering her bags. "What is in this thing? Rocks? No, not you, Roc," he added as the dog woofed. "I am talking to Lady Tamsin."

She stopped short. "You do know me. But I do not know you."

"This is Dalrinnie, is it not? And you, its lady? You are in a hurry and in some sort of trouble, I would guess. We had best not linger where we might be seen. Questions later. This way." He led her deeper into the woodland.

"Why should I go with you?"

"Shall I drop your things here?" He stopped.

"Perhaps, since I do not know you or where we might be going." She drew up the hood of her plaid cloak, shivering a little.

"Given the manner of your exit, someone will be looking for you. It seems to me you need help. So I am helping you."

With an impatient sigh, she stomped ahead, passing him, her boots crunching snow and bracken. In her haste, she stumbled over a tree root and fell to her hands and knees. Helping her up, Liam set an arm around her shoulders to guide her. For a moment, she set an arm about his waist as if to help him too. That gesture of trust surprised him.

"You are limping. Did I hurt you when I fell on you? I am sorry."

"Old injury."

"Truly I am indebted to you, sirrah. I do not mean to be ungrateful. But have we met? You seem familiar." She tilted her head, looking up at him. He tugged at the hood of his gray cloak and half turned away.

"I am a knight in the king's service."

She gasped. "King Edward? But—you do not wear the kit of an English soldier."

"Later for that. Trust me or not." Again, he took her arm.

He had to think. Providence had dropped Lady Tamsin, as if from heaven, literally into his lap. He had come here to find the widow and the book, finding that Sir Malise Comyn had arrived at Dalrinnie before him. Though he might have saved the lass, she had saved him from knocking at the gate, and receiving a possible knock to the head for it.

Why would she take that desperate route? Was the infamous book in her bag, or did Malise Comyn have it by now? The man had practically begged Edward to let him obtain it, though Edward—out of spite, perhaps—gave the task to a rebel.

First, get the lass to safety. Then sort this out.

Ahead, he heard a quiet hoot among the trees. Gilchrist stepped into sight, and the lady pulled back.

"They found me," she gasped.

"Easy. He is not with the Dalrinnie garrison." The lad's accursed red-and-gold surcoat had alarmed her.

"Liam, we must go. Is she coming with us?" Gilchrist, who had likely seen Tamsin's escape, acted as if a lass dangling on a rope and falling into his brother's arms was nothing unusual.

"Nay," she said.

"Aye," Liam said at the same time.

"Will you seek entrance to the castle?" Gilchrist asked.

"It is not necessary now." The lady was in his keeping, and he would prefer not to bang on Dalrinnie's gates without an army at his back.

"Who are you?" The girl looked from one to the other. "Have we met? You both look familiar. What do you want at Dalrinnie?"

"We are not Comyn's men if that worries you," Liam said.

Her cloud-colored eyes narrowed. "How did you know Comyn is there?"

"They made quite a clamor riding in. Hard to miss. I came here—" He stopped. "I came here for you, lass."

"For me?" She stared up at him. Her cheeks, pink with cold, went pale.

"But you seem eager to escape, so we will do that." He took her elbow. Without protest, she came along beside him.

Ahead, Gilchrist cleared the way with long steps, crushing bracken and slipping between trees until they reached a small clearing where Finley waited by the horses. The dog bounded ahead and turned to wait for the others.

"By the saints, what a brave thing, lass! Are ye hurt?" Finley asked. "What bad thing would make a wee girl jump out a window like that?"

"I did not jump. I climbed down."

"Is she coming with us, then?" Finley asked his cousins.

"I would advise it, but we should ask the lady," Liam said.

"I can go along by myself now. Thank you. I thought to head to the high road, where there is a tavern. I can hire a horse or a cart there."

"Hire us," Finley said. "We will take you where you need to go."

"We are not mercenaries. Where do you want to go?" Liam asked.

"I must find—a friend in Selkirk who can help me."

"The lass can ride with me." Gilchrist set foot to stirrup to remount. "We should go now. Someone will discover she is missing soon." He beckoned toward her.

Cradling his hands for her foot, Liam boosted her to his brother's horse. She settled on the blanket behind the saddle, legs to one side, used to riding as any lady would. Liam set his hands at her waist briefly to ensure she was stable, sensing her slim, firm body beneath her cloak and gown. Then he stepped back.

Gripping Gilchrist's belt, she looked down at Liam. "Thank you."

He nodded and crossed to his horse, lashing her bags to his saddle, then setting foot to iron stirrup to launch into his seat. "What makes these sacks so heavy? Did you take the iron candlesticks when you left?"

"Books," she answered.

"Books! A curious thing to take in a hurry."

"I like books."

"Do you now?" he murmured.

"Please," she said suddenly, "I do not want to go back to the castle."

"If we intended that, you would be back inside the gates already," Liam said.

"I want to trust you, even though you are English soldiers, but—"

"Scottish knights all," Gilchrist assured her, "and we know how to treat a lass."

"Scottish knights ride for England, too," she said.

No one answered as they set out. It was an uncomfortable truth, Liam thought, riding ahead. Saving the girl from a disastrous fall was excitement enough, but important questions remained. Her books, heavy on his saddle, weighed on his mind.

Finley moved ahead then to lead the group along a narrow well-trodden path that wound toward the high road. Roc, the hound, trotted along beside them, then ahead, pausing now and again to nose around, investigate, and catch up.

Finley turned. "Lady, was it Sir Malise or his men after you?"

"You know Sir Malise?"

"Aye, we all do. If you need to get away from him, we are glad to help."

Liam glanced at her. "The lady must have had good reason to pitch out a tower window on the laundry."

"I did. Besides, my door was guarded so it was the only way out."

"Guarded on Comyn's order?"

She nodded. Yet another reason to throttle the man, Liam thought.

He saw that her head was bare, her blond braid unkempt, a creamy ribbon unraveling along its length. So she did not wear the linen coif she wore at Lochmaben. That told him she had been in a rush to escape.

"You claim to be Scots, not Comyn's men, yet two of you wear Edward's colors." Her arms were snug around Gilchrist's waist, bunching his red surcoat with its golden lions. Finley wore the same. She looked at Liam. "But not you."

"I dislike wearing Edward's brand on my back." On his mail sleeve, he wore the Seton badge, three red crescents on yellow. The painted shield suspended from his saddle bore the second part of the arms, golden shields on dark blue. He would not wear Edward's lions willingly. In the forest days ago, he had reclaimed his old dark blue surcoat and chain mail; his studded boots were worn but sturdy, and his gray cloak was lined with tartan cloth woven by his mother. Though he had lost Dalrinnie, his loyalty to the Seton name endured.

"Under oath to Edward, like most," Gilchrist said, "but not assigned to Comyn or any castle hereabouts. We ride free for now. And that one does as he pleases."

"I do not know your names." She looked at Liam again. "And you, sir, I would swear upon the Virgin that I know you, though I cannot think where."

"We may have met." He would keep his old mail coif up and pray for shadows until he could explain all. "Lads, I should introduce Lady Thomasina Keith of Dalrinnie Castle." His kinsmen would know what it took for him to say it.

"My lady. I am Sir Gilchrist Seton. That one is my brother, Sir William Seton. And this brawny lad is our cousin, Sir Finley Macnab."

"Seton?" She paused. "I know that from somewhere—well, it is good to meet you. And Sir William, thank you for saving my life."

"You would have been fine had the rope been long enough." Liam gave her a fleeting smile. "Once we reach the tavern, where will you go?"

"I must travel east to Selkirk, then northeast to find my kin."

"A long way for a lady alone. Selkirk is a long way through the heart of the forest."

"We are heading that way," Gilchrist said. "Liam?"

"Aye. You have business in Selkirk, my lady, and friends there?"

"I do. Could you take me through the forest to Selkirk? I would be grateful. I could offer payment."

"We are not mercenaries," Liam said again.

Her smile was shy, prim. Whatever she was about in Selkirk, she would not share it. If she had friends there, he wanted to be sure of it and not leave her on her own. As before, a powerful need to protect her—though he knew little of her—rushed through him.

"We can take you there. Better than danger finding you," he said.

"It is just an errand in Selkirk. A merchant. Then I must be on my way again."

"A lady escaping from a tower needs to buy something pretty," Finley said.

"Not that," she said. "I have all I need."

"Books, perhaps," Liam ventured. "You like them."

She flashed a look at him, her gray eyes intelligent, stubborn, and surprised. Yet she smiled, impish and perfect. The lady had secrets, he thought. And a hidden strength to her, as if her fragile golden beauty hid the heart of a lion, even a dragon.

Thomas the Rhymer's kinswoman fascinated him. And from what King Edward had said, that mysterious book held something important. He frowned.

"Before we head toward Selkirk," he said, "we have an errand at Holyoak Abbey near St. Mary's Loch."

"I know that abbey. I have been there."

Now that was interesting too. Even more, he wanted to know why she fled Dalrinnie and what she needed in Selkirk. "My lady—"

"Lads," Finley said, holding up a hand for quiet. "Listen."

Liam tilted his head, then heard the blast of a horn cutting through the gloom of the cold early dawn. Another blast. He swore under his breath. "They are alerted now."

"Where might they look for you, my lady?" Gilchrist asked.

"Kincraig or Thornhill, I think, where I have kin."

"Those are north and west. We will go east toward the forest," Liam said.

"Are you rebels, you three?" she asked suddenly.

Silence. Then Finley chuckled. "Decked in Edward's gear?"

"If you were King Edward's men," she continued, "perhaps you would know where to find Sir Henry Keith. My brother."

"We know the man," Gilchrist said, "but we do not know where he might be now."

"Sir Malise said he was sent on an errand for King Edward. A dangerous errand."

"We know nothing of that. Sorry." Gilchrist shrugged.

"If we cannot find him, perhaps I should go to Lanercost and ask to see King Edward myself. I have questions for him."

Liam sent her a quick scowl. "That is an odd plan, lady."

"No odder than a knight watching my castle before dawn."

"Or a lass making her way down the bedsheets," he drawled. "We were traveling this way to take the hound to a friend. But we spied a kitten up a tree."

"Is the kitten saved now—or is she caught by wolves?"

"Trust us, or do not. Either way, you are safe," he assured her.

"Sir," she said after a moment, "why take your hound to a monastery?"

"I am away for long weeks and do not have the household I once had. Roc stays at Holyoak with other hounds in the monks' care."

"The hounds of Holyoak?" She stared at him. "I have seen them there. My husband admired them too. I visited there sometimes to see the books," she offered. "Abbot Murdoch permitted me to read in their library. He is a kind man."

"He is," Liam said. "He cares for books and hounds and looks after souls as well."

"Do the monks train the dogs for hunting? My husband thought so."

"If a lord asks it, aye. I trained Roc myself, in the days before… Well, we—my kin—once bred and raised gaze hounds, but no longer. Times have changed." His father, another Baron William, and Sir David Campbell, too, had taught Liam and his brothers to work with the once-famed hounds of Dalrinnie.

"Were you hunting with Roc this morning? 'Twas early and cold for it."

"I might have, but Roc spotted a lovely creature in distress, so—" He shrugged.

"He is a fine hound. Wolfhound, they call the breed? But such a dog is not—"

"Not for the likes of me, a mere knight?" He was not just that, but no need to say so. He merely lifted a brow and her cheeks went high pink. "Wolfhounds are prized and allowed only for earls and dukes and kings? Those are English rules," he said. "In Scotland, fine dogs belong with fine masters, no matter who they are."

"He seems an excellent dog, with a worthy master. I do not hunt. I enjoy the outing and the chase, but not the taking down. My father cared deeply for his hounds and his hawks. And my husband had a pair of very fine dogs at Dalrinnie."

He exchanged glances with Gilchrist at that. The hounds of Dalrinnie belonged to the Setons. Liam wanted to know more—how many remained there, what was their health, did Sir Davey watch over them still.

"You have hounds like Roc at Dalrinnie?" He dared ask only that.

"Just one now. Oonagh, she is called. She is like Roc, tall and gray and gentle."

Oonagh.His heart bounded. He had raised her from a pup. "Is she safe there with you gone?" He had to ask.

"I would not leave her to Sir Malise, I will tell you that," she said briskly. "I asked a friend to watch after her."

"Good. They are handsome and dignified and aye, gentle, these dogs. As loyal a friend as one could have," he said. "Sight hounds, they call them, or gaze hounds, for their long sharp vision out in the field. Your husband had others?"

"Another, an older male. He died last summer. They do not live many years."

Colla.A brindled hound raised at Dalrinnie—perhaps the father of Oonagh's puppies. "True. Eight years is a good long life for a gaze hound."

"A pity. They are majestic guardians. Oonagh makes it her work to watch over me. I worry she will fret when she cannot find me at Dalrinnie. But the seneschal will watch after her."

"I am glad." He truly was.

"Oh! There is the horn again! Are they coming this way?" She turned.

Liam glanced back, seeing nothing much. "It sounds distant. They may have headed in another direction. But we may have a parcel of trouble if we linger. Come on."

After a while, they reached the wider road as the clouds brightened, still silvery and cold. Finley, slowing to come even with them, smiled.

"Look at us, three fine knights, a bonny lass, and a handsome wolfhound. Though it be autumn, we look like a May Day party. All we need is ribbons, bells—and a harper," he added with a wink at Liam, who gave him a glower in return.

"No harper here," Gilchrist drawled, as Finley laughed.

Riding behind the others, Liam shook his head. He was used to Finley teasing him about the Irish harp he played. Sadly, he had lost that handsome instrument the night Comyn had taken him down. Escaping, he had gone back to find it, but it was lost. He flexed his fingers as if to touch its strings.

"Lady, no ribbons or bells, no harp in your satchels?" Finley was in good spirits.

"The lady has books," Liam said. Finley made a wry face and Gil laughed, but Liam still frowned. He needed to know if she brought with her the volume he sought. Eyeing the woolen bag slung from his saddle pommel, he gave it a poke. Aye, books.

Rescuing the lady might prove lucky after all, a welcome spark of hope in this grim travesty thrust upon him by King Edward.

"Harp!" She turned to look at him. "You are the harper!"