Chapter Sixteen

"The fellows left? You followed them?" Abbot Murdoch asked Liam, who stood nearest him, while Gideon, Gilchrist, and Finley waited nearby. The fire in the stone hearth, bright and crackling, warmed the room nicely against fog and chill. The abbot reached down to soothe a hand over the ears of the tall gray dog beside his chair.

For a moment, Liam was reminded of the overheated room and his uncomfortable audience with King Edward. Weeks later, he would not have imagined himself here but was glad for it. "The men rode north," he replied. "I waited to be sure."

"Good. I am sorry to have missed you yesterday. It was a bad day for the aching joints, I fear," Murdoch went on. Liam suspected there was more to it than that; his uncle looked pale and drawn, and Gideon had said he was weak. He was glad, though, to see that Roc was with Murdoch, settled and attentive.

"I had a letter recently and needed to see you—and God sent you here to me." He smiled and shifted in his leather-slung chair draped with a woolen blanket.

"I am sorry I could not come sooner, Uncle," Liam said.

"We knew you had been taken—Gilchrist brought the news, and later told us you had been liberated. It is good to see you, lad. And the Lord brought you to our gate with Lady Thomasina. Let me come back to her. First, I received a message."

He reached toward the table with a trembling hand, and Liam picked up the letter he indicated. Its broken red seal showed the tiny design of an equestrian knight encircled with castle and crown. Robert Bruce.

"In Robert's own hand, and bears his signature," his uncle explained, opening the creased page. "He mentions the English plan to evaluate castles ready for the plucking. He knows Gilchrist and Finley are tasked with that." He looked up. "And he mentions the royal ladies captured last month."

"Is there news of their release?" Gilchrist asked.

"Nothing yet. It may take years to negotiate their freedom."

"Last I saw Bruce in September," Liam said, "Edward refused to let the women go under any conditions. We all know that may not change until old Edward dies, stubborn as he is, and Prince Edward comes to the throne."

"The son can be as stubborn and cruel toward Scotland as his father," Finley said.

"But not as interested in pursuing the Scottish wars. That is his father's obsession," Liam said. "The old king is not well. I saw that for myself. The prince may abandon the assault on Scotland once he becomes king, especially if it proves difficult. And we are determined to make it so."

"Bruce says here," the abbot continued, "that Edward's treatment of the royal captives means danger for all Scotswomen. ‘Those who may come under scrutiny or danger for their royal kinship or noble rank should be taken to places of safety,' he writes here. He wants them protected."

"Does he name certain women?" Liam asked.

"A few, including Lady Thomasina Keith, but he does not know she is safe here with us. He also mentions her sisters at Kincraig, and his daughter Elizabeth, called Lilias—one of his natural offspring. And he names Lady Kirsten Douglas at Thornhill too. Her uncle is one of Bruce's closest allies, so she could attract Edward's wrath. Bruce expresses concern for these women should the English attempt to take those castles."

"Aye so," Liam said. "I met Lady Kirsten at Lochmaben with Lady Tamsin, and I know her father. We should remove both from Thornhill in case the English arrive."

"I will tell the king so in my reply, though it must wait upon a messenger who can reach him. Bruce also writes that he entrusted you, William, with another task, but must ask for this additional service as well. He trusts you. All of you," the abbot told them.

Liam nodded. "Before Edward had hold of me, I was seeing to tenants and rent-rolls on Bruce's properties, while also gathering support for him. Once we have seen Lady Tamsin and the others to safety, I mean to return to the work. We will bring Douglas of Thornhill out as well, though he may be loath to leave his castle."

"Some say he is loyal to Edward," Gilchrist said.

"No longer," Liam said. "He has been of great assistance in the rent-rolls."

"If he will come out of there, then you must help him as well."

"Tomorrow we head to Thornhill, aye?" Liam looked at Gilchrist and Finley, who nodded agreement. He noticed that Gideon began to answer, yet stopped.

"As for Lady Thomasina," the abbot said, "let her remain here until you return."

"Both ladies could go to Lincluden for an extended stay," Gilchrist suggested. "We could send word to Agatha to expect them."

"True, but it could bring a risk to Agatha if Malise pursues Lady Tamsin there."

"Malise," Gideon said, "must never be allowed near Agatha again."

"If we bring both ladies to the forest, they can disappear there," Finley said.

"If you think best," the abbot replied. "I have been giving the matter of your Lady Thomasina some thought, Liam."

She was not his lady, Liam began to say, but let it go. In some ways he had begun to feel that she was. "She is adamant that she find her friend in Selkirk. If left on her own while we are gone, she could be a runaway colt."

"Gideon will watch over her while you are gone." The abbot rubbed the dog's head for a moment. "I may have a solution for her unusual situation, but I want to talk with the girl first." He looked up. "The hour of compline is near, when we go silent until dawn. But this cannot wait. Bring her to me, Gideon. Liam, remain here."

Beckoning for Gilchrist and Finley to follow, Gideon left. Liam turned to his uncle. "Sir, what solution is that?"

"When Malise threatened the lass, you interfered by helping her. I am thinking you could interfere further."

"How?"

"Marry the girl." His uncle scratched the dog's ears, while Roc looked blissful.

"Marry!" The word jolted him to the heart. Even as he began to protest, a thought struck him. Married, Tamsin would be free of Comyn's plans; married, Liam might gain Dalrinnie through her. And married, she would be his, in his arms. He pulled in a breath.

"Do this," his uncle said, "and end the chase."

"The lady would never agree, sir. She does not trust me. Once she learns that Dalrinnie was mine, she will loathe me. I would seem no different than Comyn."

"A husband who would keep her safe amid this madness would solve her troubles. You will do that. Malise will not. And you could do with a wife."

Liam sighed, unsure of that. "At the least, she would not be forced to marry Comyn. It would be to her benefit."

"And yours. Do you agree out of chivalry, or because you see a good match, as I do?" His uncle regarded him. "Or is it vengeance against Malise?"

"All of that, sir," he admitted.

"Ah, here she is," the abbot said, looking up. "Thank you, Gideon. You may go."

The abbot stoodout of courtesy, but Tamsin lifted a hand to dissuade him, seeing how weak the old man seemed, thinner and more feeble than when she saw him last. Beside him, Liam steadied his uncle's arm to help him sit again. Even Roc loped to his feet as if to help.

"Lady Thomasina, it is good to see you. I trust you have rested well while here."

"Aye, Reverend Father. Thank you for your hospitality and sanctuary. It was much needed, I am sorry to say." She avoided Liam's glance, unsure what to think, how she felt—or how he felt about her after their encounter in the cottage, visions, and kisses, and then her uncertainty about his motives. "Thank you for seeing me."

"Of course. My nephews told me why they brought you here. I understand your difficulty and I would like to help. Liam, some heather ale for the lady and yourself. And I would not mind some too."

As Liam obliged, pouring ale from a jug into small wooden cups, Tamsin glanced around the abbot's house. She had never been inside despite meeting him on earlier visits. The house had a humble simplicity, with whitewashed stone walls and a raftered, thatched roof overhead. But it was larger than her cottage, with a spacious, plainly furnished room where they gathered now, and a second chamber beyond a curtained door. Glancing around, she saw a few small windows studded with leaded circles of thick glass, shedding cool light on a few chairs, a bench, table, shelves—and books.

Volumes were stacked beside the abbot's chair and on a shelf; some were piled on the table, along with loose parchments, inkpots, quills, and a reading stand. The room was not entirely tidy, and Tamsin smiled to see the cozy environment of a man who loved books and learning and comfort. She liked him even more seeing the comfortable jumble of his home. It spoke to her of the man.

"Sit down, Lady Thomasina," the abbot said. Liam handed her a cup of ale and then opened a wooden folding stool for her. Rather than sit, he returned to his uncle's side and caught her eye. His quick frown seemed threaded with tension, his eyes a cloudy gray blue. His mood was somber, she realized, wondering what was behind it.

"I wanted to see both of you. I have prayed over your situation, my lady, and I have some thoughts. At first it seemed best to send you to Lincluden, but my nephews insist you will be safer in the forest for now."

"I appreciate it, Reverend Father. Though I must go to Selkirk to attend to a matter, and then go on to Kincraig, where my family lives. The route might go through the forest, but I did not think to stay."

"We can discuss that. You were a brave lass to do what you did."

"Brave or foolish, I am not certain which."

"I believe heaven guided you here. I have prayed on your dilemma, and a suggestion has come to me that might help."

"Aye?" Grateful for his attention but puzzled, she glanced at Liam. He stood with arms crossed, head tilted, subdued and expectant. She felt sure something had been decided before she arrived.

"I am acquainted with Sir Malise Comyn," the abbot was saying, "and I know what it is to deal with King Edward. Neither will rest until they get their way. But you cannot continue to keep just a few steps ahead of this. Comyn is intent on finding you. Would you like my advice?"

"Of course, sir," Tamsin said. Liam was silent.

"You must make sure that Sir Malise does not get what he wants. He will damage and destroy whatever he gains."

"He wants what belonged to the Rhymer," she said. "And he wants Dalrinnie."

"And you," the abbot said.

"So it seems. But I do not know what to do." She avoided Liam's steady gaze.

"Then it is time for honest talk. Will your errand in Selkirk help the situation?"

"It may. I must—I would find the bookseller there. He has the pages."

"The Rhymer's book?" Liam asked abruptly. "You never said."

"I did not tell you because you want this thing of me too."

"What is this book?" the abbot asked. "Tell us. We are not a threat, my dear."

She sighed, then relented. "My great-grandfather wrote of many things in a poor hand on scraps of paper. He gave them to me to copy out. He said they were very important to him. So when Brother Gideon talked of the bookseller and binder in Selkirk, I knew he could prepare the pages I copied into a book. My husband knew of it. I brought the pages to the bookbinder when he was here at Holyoak. But I do not know why anyone should want it but my kinfolk," she added fervently.

"Is the book safe in this man's keeping?" Liam sounded gruff.

"It should be. But I want to fetch it before Comyn can find it."

"And so you should." She had not expected so calm a response from him. She frowned, seeing again that something distracted him. She could sense his feelings somehow, like clear warm waves of awareness, as if they were wrapped with her own. Wanting to ask what bothered him, she could not.

Seton of Dalrinnie. Resentment returned like a slamming door. She looked away. She had said too much, feeling as protective of Thomas's writings now as the day he had entrusted his bookish little granddaughter with his work.

The abbot sipped his ale. "So you need to get the bound book. Then what?"

"I would take it to my sisters at Kincraig," she said. "I cannot return to Dalrinnie, for King Edward gave Comyn the keeping of it. But I refused to marry Sir Malise, so he cannot claim my right to the castle or any of my property."

"Therein lies the problem and the solution both, I believe."

"I do not understand. If I take to a convent, I would give up my claim to earthly possessions and properties."

"And Dalrinnie and your property, including that book, would be like leather balls, rolling free," the abbot said. "Edward would pounce."

"The king could assert that your properties reverted to him, as can happen when unmarried or widowed women enter the sisterhood," Liam added. "That is English law, not Scots or Irish, as is honored here. The king would claim the Rhymer's work that way. So a convent is not the answer."

"I see," she said. "I promised Grandda that I would protect his legacy. If entering a convent would undo that, then I cannot."

"Lady Thomasina," the abbot said, "I met Thomas the Rhymer years ago. An impressive fellow. And he might say that the most important thing to protect in this predicament is you, my lady. You are his legacy, you and your kin, even more so than his writings."

"My sisters and brother and I? That may be so."

"It is so," Liam's murmured.

The abbot smiled. "There is one course of action that will ensure what you need."

Seeing the quick sparkle in the old monk's dark-circled eyes, she had a sudden clear thought that made her gasp. "You think I should marry another?"

He smiled. "Thomas's lass indeed. Yes, I think you should marry…Sir William."

"Marry you?" She looked at Liam, bewildered.

His gaze was a steady blue clarity. "It is up to the lady."

"This is the most direct way to stop Sir Malise, I think," said Abbot Murdoch.

"If I agree, if we did—" She breathed in, out, vying for purchase as if she climbed a height. "The king could order our arrest. Or our deaths, both of us."

"Edward is predictable in his anger," the abbot agreed. "But I recommend this."

"What of you?" She turned to Liam, her heart a drum, beating out hopes, fears.

"If you marry someone now, it would deter Comyn." He spoke calmly, without emotion, yet his eyes were keenly blue, a sea-depth she could not quite read. Then he shrugged. "Or he might find a way around it."

"He would make me a widow and have done with it. That is what he would do."

"My dear, it could work. What do you say?" the abbot asked.

"Not marriage." She blurted out what came next. "Betrothal. A man cannot marry another man's betrothed."

"He can," Liam said. "But it might be enough."

"The banns of betrothal, once posted, are not easily dissolved," she argued.

"Banns are posted for at least a fortnight, giving others time to protest."

"But it would provide time that you may need," the abbot interrupted.

"Wait." Tamsin felt unable to meet Liam's gaze just then. "If I marry—Sir William, then he could claim what I own. The Rhymer's work. Dalrinnie."

The men exchanged glances, and Liam shook his head slightly. While Tamsin waited in silence, the fire crackled and the dog woofed in his sleep.

"I do not follow English law," Liam said at last. "Your things are your own."

"What do you say, my dear?" the abbot asked. "You could say vows tonight or in the morning. If not marriage, betrothal vows if you choose. But this should not wait. Liam leaves early tomorrow."

"You are leaving?" She felt as if the floor wavered under her.

"An assignment from the king," he said quietly.

She stood. "I must think."

Turning, she opened the door to step out into the evening light, and ran.