Chapter Ten

"Stop," Tamsin said, tapping Sir Gilchrist's shoulder. "Please, stop."

"But lady, we could be pursued," he answered.

"Just for a moment. I must talk to the harp—to Sir William." She glanced at that knight, her heart pounding and temper rising.

"Liam?" Gilchrist Seton looked back at his brother.

Sir William—not Wat of Selkirk, and not dead in the least—reined in his horse, as did Gilchrist and Finley. Dismounting, Liam Seton came toward her to lift her down. His hands were sure at her waist. She slid to the ground, boots to earth, and stared at him.

"You are not dead!"

"Should I be? Come here," he barked, taking her hand to lead her to the side of the road, while the others waited. Finley tossed a stick for the wolfhound to fetch. The dog watched it go with disdain.

Sir William turned to Tamsin. "What do you mean, ‘not dead'?"

"What do you mean by posing as a knight? Or were you posing as a harper?"

"Both."

"I am confused—Sir Knight, Master Harper. Which is true?"

"Both," he said. "So you thought me dead? You seem angry to find otherwise."

"Nay!" She glared at him, then sighed, and shook her head. "Nay. I am just surprised. Relieved. We saw them attack you that night. Master Brewer, all of us, believed you were killed." Tears stung as she looked at him, searching his face, his eyes, blue as a patch of winter sky, his expression grave as he listened. "But you are alive, thank the saints."

"I do thank them," he murmured. "And I am sorry you saw the ambush, my lady."

"But what happened after? How is it you are here, a king's knight instead of a harper? I do not understand." She shook her head, strands of her night braid slipping loose. She pushed them back.

"I was injured, I admit. But I managed to get away and find friends. I recovered."

"Good. But if you are a knight, why did you act the harper at Lochmaben?"

"I enjoy the harp." He glanced at his waiting kinsmen. "Lady, we must ride."

"I thought you dead, and I was heartbroken. I thought I caused your death."

"You had naught to do with what happened to me that night."

"But I did. You came to Lochmaben to find me."

"Did I?" His eyes narrowed. She saw that his irises were ice blue, dark-lashed, startling and beautiful. How had she not recognized him earlier? But in the mail coif, in surcoat and chain mail, in shadows, he looked different. And she had been distracted, fleeing Dalrinnie.

"Liam," Sir Finley called. Sir William held up a hand to quiet him.

"You said you were looking for the lady of Dalrinnie that night," she went on.

"I was."

"You said you had a message for me. But you called yourself Wat of Selkirk. And now you are William Seton—" She gasped as a memory flashed, surfaced.

Seton—the name of the lord of Dalrinnie before her husband took it. She had forgotten that entirely until now. She knew little about the previous family, and yet—he had come to Dalrinnie. Was he one of those Setons? And she had seen him in a dream that came about, at least in part. A ripple went through her, an awareness of something more afoot.

"Whoever you are," she continued, "you were looking for me. Lady Thomasina, you said. That is me. So aye, it is because of me that Sir Malise went after you."

"Listen to me. I will explain, but not here. We must go. Now what?" He tipped his head, those eyes seeing beyond her silence, her thoughts. "There is something more."

He had a way of echoing her very thoughts. But he was right, they had to move ahead. She would have to save her questions. "I am just glad you are well, Sir Harper."

"So am I." He led her back to the others. "The lady will ride with me now," he said. As he mounted his horse and reached down for her, Gilchrist boosted her up to sit sideways behind him.

"Wait. I can ride astride," she said. "Without the proper saddle, riding pillion is more comfortable." She swung a leg nimbly over the horse's back, tucked her skirts and spread her plaid cloak. Then she grasped Sir William's wide leather belt.

They took the wide cobbled road heading south and eastward. After a while, Tamsin hugged her arms around William Seton's waist and leaned against him. She felt secure there. Grateful that luck and the angels were with her in the form of three knights willing to help, and a lovely hound who reminded her of gentle Oonagh.

Now she realized why Sir William had looked so familiar. He was the harper. Yet Sir Gilchrist looked oddly familiar too, though she could not place him. Perhaps it was a resemblance to his brother, the one dark, the other fair. For now, with the earlier sense of threat fading, she felt only relief.

Glancing at William Seton's profile, she saw him frown, somber and thoughtful. Was he annoyed by the obligation and delay of helping her? Or did something else, private and deep, trouble him?

As a Seton, what was his connection to Dalrinnie? And more importantly, what was the king's message that he had carried weeks ago, as the harper? He had not said.

And which was true—king's knight, harper, outlaw—or all of those?

Well, he was not a very good harper, she recalled, and there must be more to his story than he had let on so far. How odd that he had come to Dalrinnie just as Malise Comyn had arrived with the king's demands. Did William Seton bear the same message?

She could not sort it all out. Resting her forehead on his cloaked back, weary, fraught, she closed her eyes.

"Lady." He looked back. "We are six leagues away from Holyoak, where my kinsmen and I must stop. Can you ride that far?" The morning light made his blue eyes striking when she craned to meet his gaze. Her heart surged.

"I am fine," she said.

She watched him further, curious. Though he seemed only a few years older than her, perhaps thirty, concern had hardened his handsome features, etching fine lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. His jaw was covered in a scruff of dark beard, but the full curve of his lips gave a hint of tenderness. He had dropped back the chain mail coif to reveal thick, glossy waves of brown hair streaked with gold. Earlier, had she seen him without the coif, seen those ice-blue eyes under dark brows, she would have known the harper straightaway.

Despite the perpetual scowl he had today, she thought, he had a singular and tough beauty. Riding through gray mist, he seemed the soul of strength and humility, a warrior-angel. She wanted, needed, to trust him, yet inching toward it, held back.

"Thank you," she said. "I do not wish to be any trouble."

"You are no trouble. Clearly you wanted to leave Dalrinnie."

She hesitated. "Sir Malise asked something of me that I would not do."

"Did he," he drawled. "I will speak to him about it if you like."

She nearly laughed. "I will leave that to you."

The hound ran past them, then turned to wait for the riders. Gilchrist surged ahead, Roc chasing alongside, while Finley dropped back to speak with William.

"Gilchrist is going ahead to make sure the way is clear," Finley said. "Where will you go after Selkirk, my lady? It is hardly safe for you to travel on your own."

"Kincraig, my family's castle. Though I ought to go to Thornhill to fetch my cousin. She could travel with me." She glanced at William Seton. The harper would remember Lady Kirsten Douglas, but he gave no sign.

Finley shook his head. "There is danger in traveling, especially for a woman, especially to those areas. The English are planning to take castles like Thornhill and Kincraig, if they can. Surely you heard of it at Dalrinnie."

She felt a frisson of alarm. "I heard nothing. Will my cousin be safe there?"

"Baron Thornhill sympathizes with Edward, which may count in their favor. Taking a castle down is not an easy thing to manage and may not happen quickly."

"They may have more news of English movements at Holyoak," William said.

Sir Gilchrist rode back. "All clear. Mist all about, and sleet beginning. Sheep on the hillsides, and the road empty north and south. This poor weather will keep others off the roads, but we should hasten for shelter. I do not like the look of those clouds, Liam."

"Holyoak is a fair distance yet. Those clouds threaten rain, perhaps even snow in this damp cold," his brother replied. "We can stop at the inn ahead for the lady's sake and rest the horses before we go to the abbey. This weather is unusual for October and should not last."

As they spoke, rain began to fall in tiny, icy pellets. Tamsin shivered in the bitter wind. "Are we safe on the high road?"

"For now," Gilchrist said. "English troops come up by road and water. But we will keep careful watch. Edward may send more men to Dalrinnie."

Sir William glanced at her. "Did you hear aught of plans at Dalrinnie?"

"They were looking at maps and talking of Bruce. But I do not know their plans, other than they intend to find Robert Bruce however they can. Could Sir Malise find us out here, do you think?"

"All too possible. I imagine there is quite a stir at Dalrinnie over your absence."

"Should I ask sanctuary at Holyoak? You are a worthy escort, but he could—"

"Bad as that, to need sanctuary?" He glanced back.

"He will be in a temper over this," she admitted.

"A monastery cannot house a woman alone for long except in the hospital there. They would send you to a convent, likely Lincluden Priory. For now, know that Dalrinnie's Scottish bride is safe with us, aye?"

That was what Sir John had called her. "Scottish widow."

"Just so. Why is Comyn so determined to find you? Did you steal plate or goods? Done murder or harm?" His lips quirked.

"Much of the plate and goods are mine. He wants me back for other reasons."

"There are easier exits than the tower. I wonder you did not take the tunnel that leads outside the walls."

Tamsin stared. "Tunnel?"

"From the tower to the postern gate. Surely you knew."

She shook her head. "I did not. How do you know of it?"

"A guess. Many older castles of that type have just such an escape in case of attack. How long have you been at Dalrinnie?"

"Over two years. But I never heard of a tunnel. My husband never mentioned it."

"Perhaps he never knew. He was not the original owner."

"I heard little of that one. Only that he was away from Dalrinnie when it was taken." He went silent and she felt a strange tension rolling from him that began to build in her. He guided the horse, then spoke over his shoulder.

"That makes the taking of a castle easier when the owner is gone."

She would venture it. "Seton. That was the name of the previous lord. Your kin?"

"There are many Setons around, some in this region." He looked up at the gray and drizzling sky. "With luck, the weather will not worsen."

He seemed distracted beyond the moment. Something burdened him, a weight upon his heart. She desperately wanted to ask but could only wish him peace with it.

"You know more about me than I know about you, I think," she said.

"That may be."

They all rode in silence now, the weather worsening. Each step of the horses' hooves was wary and the men watched the icing grass, the hills, and the sky where the very clouds seemed to freeze. Drawing her hood higher against the cold rain, Tamsin huddled against the knight's shielding back, so tired she nearly dozed.

"Weary, Lady Tamsin? Rest if you can. Soon we will stop."

*

Liam stretched hislegs before the fire, sighing as warmth radiated through the damp leather of his boots. Lifting a wooden cup, he took another sip of heather ale, recognizing its subtle flavor as a brew made by the monks of Holyoak. The abbey provided its excellent ale to local inns, religious houses, and a few local nobles, though they declined to sell to English garrisons. He smiled a little, remembering that.

Icy rain pattered against the window shutters and the oiled parchment stretched across casements that made the interior cozy but dim. Best stay inside for now, he thought; they would reach the abbey before dark if weather permitted. He closed his eyes, savoring the warmth and peace here. They were the only guests for now, the innkeeper and his wife moving quietly between kitchen and main room. Relaxed yet aware, Liam listened for horses in the yard, hearing only wind and sleet.

Lady Tamsin sat beside him, her slim fingers crumbling a bit of bannock. She sipped hot broth from the cup Dame Brown, the wife, had provided. Seated nearby, Gilchrist and Finley chatted with the innkeeper's wife as she set down another plate of oatcakes, hot from the griddle, a pot of butter, and a jug of ale.

He watched Tamsin Keith. She had a quiet strength and did not complain, though the day had been arduous for her. He had scant patience for fuss and weakness, and she showed none of that. He sensed she was resilient and astute, her fragility only on the surface. She was determined and was hiding something. He would wager good coin it had to do with that bothersome book.

"All is well?" he asked.

"The warmth and hot meal are welcome, I vow. Can we stay long?" A plaintive note in her voice told him how tired she was.

"For a bit. Dalrinnie is well behind us, and anyone following should be well behind us too, in this icy rain." But patrols rode out in any weather, he knew. Glancing out the window, he noted the long empty curve of the road, cloaked in mist.

Yet an uneasy feeling lingered.

Roc nosed out from under the table, and the lady slipped him a tidbit, then patted his head. He noticed the girl shivering in her gray gown, still damp, her plaid cloak drying by the fireside with the knights' cloaks.

As Dame Brown moved toward him to refill his cup, he smiled at her. "Holyoak's ale," he said. "I know the taste."

"And fine stuff it is, sir. It is good to have customers here in such weather. We have had no one here today until you lot. Are you heading north?"

"On our way to Holyoak Abbey, as it happens."

"Ah, good folk, the monks, generous with their prayers and their gardens, and they even keep a small hospital. Are ye ill, sir, or your lady? No? That's fine, then. They raise fine dogs there, like your own. They even have a room filled with books, I hear, which some ride far to see."

"So I hear," Liam said, with a glance for Lady Tamsin, who was buttering an oatcake. "I will give them your compliments on the ale, good Dame."

The woman nodded, then peered at him. "Do I know you, sir?"

Liam wished he had kept his cloak's hood up. "I have been here now and then."

"Perhaps a customer, aye. But you look very much like the—"

"And you may have seen my brothers in the area," he said, as Lady Tamsin sent him a curious glance. "The oatcakes were excellent. If you have something more, we would be hungry enough."

"I have a good barley soup in the kettle and will bring that for you." She beamed. "I know! You remind me of the lord what was at Dalrinnie years back. He was older but had grown sons—och, but the English took the place, did they not, and an Englisher came instead. He died as well, I heard. My lady, will you have more broth?"

"Thank you, Dame, perhaps soup," she said, turning a curious gaze on Liam.

"Hot soup will take the chill away." The wife hurried away.

Liam blew out a breath. Soon Lady Tamsin would either guess or discover his past and his ties to Dalrinnie. He was in no hurry to hasten that revelation.

"After we eat," Gilchrist said, "we should leave for the abbey."

"Aye," Liam agreed, as Dame Brown returned with a tray holding wooden bowls slopping over with steaming soup, which they quickly discovered was hearty with shredded meat, barley, and vegetables.

"I am sorry to have disturbed your plans," Tamsin said.

"The weather did that more than you," he said. "We are glad to help. We will get you safely where Comyn cannot reach you, and then be on our way." Liam tilted his ale cup, dark liquid and slight foam remaining. In part, he would welcome a chance to confront Comyn over his treatment of the lady. She would have been safe, with no need to escape, if Setons had been at Dalrinnie still.

He would have treated the lady respectfully and tenderly, as she deserved. The more time he spent with her, the more he felt awed by her intellect, her fortitude, her courage. Still, he felt distracted by her beauty, by her sweet curves and warmth, by the intangible allure he sensed when he looked at her. He was thankful to find her—

Stop,he told himself. He broke an oatcake, dragged it through soft butter and took a bite. If anything, he must find out what she knew of books. That was all.

He watched as she slipped a scrap of meat to the dog under the table again. "You like dogs," he said. "And books, I think. There are excellent books on raising hounds that might interest you."

"My father had such books, but nothing on dogs. He did have an excellent book on falconry, however. De Arte Venandi cum Avibus. I read that."

"I too read it years back. I found the Latin slow going."

"I managed it, though my French is better for reading, and I have a little Greek and Hebrew as well. I copied parts of the falconry volume as a gift for my father when I was a girl. I have a good hand for writing," she added, seeming shy about it.

"You had an exceptional education."

"My siblings and I were taught together by a priest at Kincraig. You have brothers," she said. "Sisters too?"

"Two brothers, one sister. She was educated with us and often outpaced us, to our great humiliation. One of my uncles is a priest and he was our tutor in those days. He was a tireless taskmaster, and we had him for confession as well."

She laughed softly. He liked the sound. The urge to tell her more about his family, about himself, swamped him for a moment. But that would be unwise.

"You are so fond of books that you brought a parcel of them away with you." He indicated her bag on the floor with the other things. "Do you have a favorite?"

Frowning, her lush lips pinched thin, she seemed to consider it. "I am partial to histories," she said. "And tales of Arthur and his knights and so on. I rather like the tale of Tristan and Iseult. Do you know it?"

"Oh, aye. The harper and the king's woman, runaway lovers fleeing evil to be together—a good story. I am fond of poetry and verses too. Songs and such."

"I sometimes write verses. But not very good ones."

"Did you bring those with you too?"

Her glance seemed cautious. "I have a little book of hours for prayers and a few others that I could not leave behind. I do not know if I can ever return to Dalrinnie."

"I would take you there if I could," he said impulsively. "Home to your books." Unlike him. A step too far into pretty chivalry. His nature was reserved, an observer, even a grouser. He did not easily dole out charm and compliments, though he managed the pretense while in the guise of the harper.

Lady Tamsin was having a strange effect on him. He wanted to please her, to see her smile. He had not felt that way about a girl since adolescence. Even Beatrix, his father's choice for him, sweet as she was, had not stirred him as deeply as this woman seemed to do.

"We share a love of books, sirrah." Her smile was quick and warm, like a sunbeam through a cloud.

"We do." They shared a love of Dalrinnie too, he realized. He smiled as well, which he did not do often these days. Then he caught himself. He was sinking fast. Best haul himself free. "Pardon me if I seemed to pry. We are strangers traveling together along a cold mile. Our paths may never cross again."

She frowned as if distressed and glanced away. "True."

Strangers.Liam felt a hard tug inside when he said it. He barely knew her, but she did not seem like a stranger. He felt comfortable in her company. Alive and strong, keenly interested in her thoughts, her life—

But she was not a lady to court. She was the means to get what he wanted. What he needed.

He sat back to put a little distance between them. She distracted him, with her silvery irises and rosy curved lips. The tousle of her fine-spun hair.

And he was increasingly aware that she roused in him an urge that was very physical, yet beyond it too. He needed to protect her, to know her, to be with her. That was dangerous. Soon he would have to betray her over that damnable book and the home she seemed to love. Best to remain aloof.

"Our paths may never cross again," she repeated. "But I am grateful."

"Just so." He looked away. She could capture him like a fish in a net. But he knew better than to let that happen.

He glanced out the window. Dalrinnie was well in the distance, yet no matter how far away, his castle pulled at his heart. And no matter what it took, or who claimed it now, he would regain his home.

As much as he disliked the idea, there was one way to do that.

Get the book from her,Edward had said. It does not matter how 'tis done.