Chapter Twenty-One

"Lady! To me!" He drew her toward him. "Allan! Stop the cart!"

Liam.She threw herself toward him just as the slowing cart threw her against the side. Liam let go of her, pulling up on his horse just as Allan tugged on the reins until the cart rolled at a calmer pace.

Liam rode steadily beside the cart now. In the distance, Tamsin saw knights sprawled in the grass, riderless horses grazing, reins hanging. Farther away, she recognized Gideon riding the charger he had seized, heading back toward the abbey—while a knight in mail and red surcoat hurtled after him.

"Gideon!" she shouted in warning.

"The other one is Gilchrist," Liam said. "He will make sure his brother is fine and then return to guard those men. They are not dead, love," he said. "I saw them moving a bit. Gideon can fetch help to carry them to the abbey hospital."

She nodded, sitting up, breath heaving into a sob. Heart going like thunder, limbs shaking, she reached toward him, just as Allan eased the cart to a stop. Liam dropped back his chain mail hood—she saw he wore only a mail shoulder cape and hood over leather as protection—and took her hand.

"Are you hurt?" Strong gloved fingers worked along her arm, looking for injury.

"Just bruised, I think. Those men attacked us—"

"But I have you now. Allan, you drove like a champion. Well done!"

"I meant to keep the lady safe, sir."

"You did, and I owe you for it."

Tamsin blinked, marveling at such calm in Liam, feeling it infuse into her. Exhaling hard, she felt her heart steady some. He held her hand in a sure grip.

"Sir, what of Holyoak?" Allan asked.

"The monks have the fire under control now. Gilchrist and I arrived shortly before those fellows swept in and tried to fire the abbey. They sent flaming arrows over the walls. But we were ready for them." He looked at Tamsin. "I asked them to fill extra barrels of water and move some haystacks out of reach. I told them I had a feeling."

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Then we followed when they headed this way over the moorland."

"Will they send more men?" Tamsin looked again at the fallen knights, saw one move a leg, the other rolling a bit. Gilchrist had returned, seated on his horse nearby, hand on sword as he watched them.

"Once word reaches Comyn, they well might. We can assume he sent them to attack, thinking you might be there. Allan, stay here with the cart near Gilchrist. They will need your help at Holyoak. I will take Lady Tamsin into the forest. And make sure you give those excellent ponies an extra rubdown and a generous measure of oats later."

"I will. But if I stay here, you and the lady have just one horse."

"There are good horses over there, if the lady will ride a knight's saddle."

"She will." Tamsin rose in the cart as Liam pulled her up and into his lap. She wrapped an arm around his neck as he pressed his cheek to her head in a quick embrace.

"Good?" he murmured. She nodded, leaning against him.

"Good, aye. Oh, my satchels—thank you," she said, as Allan tossed them to Liam, who secured them over his saddle pommel. With a wave, Allan turned the ponies and cart and headed toward Gilchrist. In the distance, Tamsin saw that the smoke had lessened already, straggling skyward in pale streams.

"Was anyone hurt at Holyoak? Is the abbey safe?" she asked.

"No one was hurt, and repairs can be made." Wrapping an arm about her, he took up the reins.

"I am so glad you were there and came after us. I thought you were still away."

"It seems to be my lot in life to go wherever you are going, my lass."

"Gideon was a champion too. He went after them, even took one down with a tree branch and took the man's horse!"

"He knows what he is about, does Sir Gideon."

"He is trained to fight like that, yet he wishes to be a monk?"

"Or thinks he does. My brother feels he must atone for something, but others should atone to him. When the time comes, he will make the right decision."

She nodded. "I am sorry I was not there. We thought we would have to meet you in the forest later. All are safe? The dogs and horses too?"

"The flames caught the thatch on the bake house and the cottage where you stayed. The place will smell of smoke for a while, but all is well. Providentia," he murmured, "that you were gone, or you might have been inside the cottage."

"You might have been there with me." She shuddered, pressed against him.

"Tamsin." He frowned. "You warned about fire in the abbey."

"I am grateful that you listened and were not worried by the strangeness of it."

He huffed a little laugh. "Me, I have seen this sort of thing before. I have a cousin who does such things. It is not strange in our family."

"I am glad of it. But why would Malise order an attack on the abbey? That is, if he did this."

"Oh, I do not doubt it. His men must have told him that you could be inside Holyoak. We met one of their patrols when we rode guard around the abbey. But I said the woman inside the enclosure was my wife, and that they should move on."

"Wife! You claimed so in the tavern too. You are the soothsayer here."

"Am I? Though I fear my claim may have raised their curiosity and brought them there rather than away."

Did he feel guilt and regret for it, this strong and reserved man? She pressed closer. "Malise knew I had friends at the abbey. Or perhaps they saw the banns posted on the Holyoak chapel and the village kirk. But it would be lunacy for Sir Malise to order a monastery burned. He could be excommunicated for that."

"He has a touch of madness, that one. I have seen it."

"And I ran from him, which could have stirred his wrath."

"My involvement would infuriate him too. Tamsin," he went on, "does Malise know about your ability?"

"The visions? I do not think so. Unless—" She hesitated. "He met often with my husband—I mean, my late husband…" she amended, glancing at Liam. "I wonder if Sir John boasted to Malise that I had the gift of Sight. Sir John was proud of my ties with Thomas, though he disliked my intuition. It was sinful, he said, and I should beware. He was not pleased if I tried to warn him about a feeling I had, especially if it proved true. So I stopped trying to be helpful."

"He would not appreciate Scottish frankness. Still, I wonder. Edward is sometimes hungry for soothsaying to point the way. Malise may be the same."

"He never mentioned that, but he was certainly intent on the Rhymer's book."

"The king may want it for its predictions."

"There are none in the pages. Just poetry, I assure you."

"Well, we will be diligent. It is all we can do. Now, my lady, which of these horses will you have?" He gestured toward the knight's horses grazing in the meadow.

"The smallest—the dappled one."

Liam helped her slide down to the ground, then dismounted to approach the horse cautiously. Within moments, so effortlessly that she gaped in surprise, he had the horse's rein and was patting its neck and muzzle, talking quietly. Whinnying, the horse tossed its head and stepped forward.

"He will allow it if we make sure he has a good home."

"We will." Liam helped her into the saddle and stood back to let her walk the horse in slow circles, letting him adjust to a different and lighter rider, Liam walked over to Gilchrist to speak with him. Then he came back as Gilchrist and Allan, too, waved.

Soon mounted with her skirts tucked, Tamsin rode beside Liam, stretching to become used to the larger saddle. Her hip felt bruised where the keg had slammed into it, but after a while, eased by the rocking motion, she relaxed into the ride.

"A bit further and we will be in the shelter of the forest," Liam said.

"Gideon said Selkirk is too far to reach today."

"I know it is important for you to get there. I understand it better now. But your wellbeing is more important to me. Selkirk is on the far side of an enormous tract of forestland. The route is not always easy nor safe."

"But when will we be there?"

"I must beg patience from an impatient lady. I promise you will get there soon."

She gave a heavy sigh. "I was foolish to think I could leave Dalrinnie and rush to Selkirk, then Kincraig, and do it quickly."

"You do not travel much on your own, I think."

"I always traveled with an escort. Sometimes I wanted to hurry but it seemed they never did." She looked at Liam, his profile clean in the sunlight, his dark hair waving back in the breeze. "I suppose I do not have a good sense of how to find Selkirk. I am very glad of your help."

"You should not look for your bookseller on your own. Certainly not with Sir Malise searching for you."

She sighed, trying to remind herself of all she could be thankful for that day, from the rescue to Liam's company now, to the placid horse that responded readily to her commands. She glanced at Liam again. "He is determined to find me."

"He wants you, without a doubt."

"You want me too," she blurted.

"Of course I do," he said easily.

"I mean, you want me for the Rhymer's book."

His lips twitched. "Surely you can think of other reasons."

Aware she had spoken too quickly, she shook her head. "You set aside your concerns to take me hither and yon. This book has brought such trouble. I wish I had never—"

"Damn the book," he growled. "I am here for you, Tamsin Keith. You have been under constant threat, and I mean to take you where you cannot be found so easily. Then let us worry about this book."

"What about your orders from King Edward?"

"You need not worry over that."

"I do worry, since you will not tell me all of it."

"I did say Bruce might want the pages. We will find time to discuss the rest."

"Will we? You tell me little enough, so perhaps you are a threat to me after all. Perhaps you think to tuck me away somewhere and take the Rhymer's pages according to your own judgment. So I do worry about the book." She flashed him a sharp glance, impatience and temper flaring.

"True. I do what I think I must. As do you." He guided his horse on in silence.

A little flare of doubt and anger seared through her, freshening her resolve to protect the book. But she needed Liam—not just to guide her to Selkirk. She needed him, wanted him, and hesitated to fully admit it even to herself. But so long as he had orders from Edward and had yet to explain them, she had to be wary.

A wave of loneliness hit her, and with it the sense of isolation and self-protection she had felt at Dalrinnie, trapped in a loveless marriage. For a moment that feeling swamped her. But she was no longer in that situation. This impromptu marriage might last beyond handfasting. Yet Liam Seton kept a barrier around him, just as she did. She desperately wanted to break through that.

As they rode, the silence hung heavily between them. She felt alone in her promise, and in the uneasy sense that Comyn might always be a threat. Liam knew about her ability, but she felt safe in that. Malise suspected it—and could try to ruin her.

Glancing at Liam now, she regretted her bluntness. She felt a wash of gratitude, that he had come into her life when she needed him most. Or was that love she felt? Not so quickly, surely. Affection, thankfulness, tempered with caution. But she did not want to feel this tension. Not now, when he had saved her life earlier. He had proven over and over a caliber of steadfastness that she was not sure she deserved.

"Sir William," she said, breaking the silence. He frowned at her. In the cool sunlight, his black-lashed eyes were like blue glass above purplish shadows, and the tender curve of his mouth was grim. He looked tired. Her heart wrenched.

He lifted his brows as if to invite whatever she had to say.

"I know I am not an easy charge," she said. "I am grateful for what you have done, and I promise you will not have to rescue me again."

His laugh was curt. "I hope it is not necessary, but I will be there if it is."

"Perhaps someday I will come to your aid instead." She wanted to lighten the mood. She had spoken too quickly earlier, and once again he had taken it in stride.

"A lady rescuing a knight? One never knows." He pointed ahead. "Look there, where that wide stream cuts through the moor—that is the Ettrick Water. We will cross that arched stone bridge, see there? Farther on, where the trees grow thick along that ridge, is the hemline of the forest skirt. Where those tall boughs come together like a cathedral arch, over to the left—that is the entrance we will take into the great forest."

"Oh, it is lovely!" The leaves of the tall oaks and birches were turning with the season, gold and rust and purple against canopies of every shade of green and sienna. Against the blue sky, the beauty of it nurtured her soul.

She longed to find rest and peace in that cool sanctuary, though impatience made her wish to take the shortest route to Selkirk to find the bookbinder's shop. She followed Liam over the stone bridge, then drew alongside him again.

"Tamsin," he said then, "perhaps I have held back too much from you."

A sense went through her of truth dawning, feather-light and clear. She waited.

"King Edward gave me the order in September," he said, "when I was a prisoner at Carlisle. He had me brought to him at Lanercost. Said he wanted a book belonging to the Rhymer. Said it was owned by an old woman. Thomasina."

"Ah. The Rhymer's daughter. He was so wrong. He released you because you promised to fetch the book?"

"But I refused."

"He would have killed you if you had refused. A Scotsman, perhaps a spy, already in his custody? You would be dead now."

"She sees truth and speaks it out," he said. "Aye, he would have had me killed, like a cousin of mine, like friends. Wallace. Others. But—" He stopped, rode on until she craned to look at him.

"But what? You agreed, for you went free."

"Because he offered to give me Dalrinnie again. And—Malise was there. He pushed for the king to give him the order. That decided me."

"More than Dalrinnie?"

"I am not so foolish as to trust Edward's word. And I did not want Malise to succeed."

"Or take Dalrinnie."

"Or pester an old lady." He gave her such a wry smile that she laughed.

"Well, he did pester me."

"And still would. We will find a way to stop him. What say you, aye?"

"I think," she said, smiling, "I am very fond of you just now, sirrah."

"Truth will out." He laughed and rode ahead, guiding her up a grassy slope toward the cathedral of trees ahead to enter the forest.

The horses' hooves crunched rhythmically along the forest floor where fallen leaves and pine needles mingled, the path wide enough for them to ride side by side, the trees widely spaced, the terrain flat enough that Tamsin could see through and beyond, to the green and brown density further on. Autumn leaves crushed underfoot, and she realized it was impossible to move silently through this part of the forest. As they rode on, leaves fell around them, spinning down in the breeze. A tapestry of sound wove together the thud of horse hooves, the rustle of the wind, the chatter and trill of birds, and somewhere the constant burble of water.

"It is peaceful here, so golden and quiet," she said, looking up at leafy curtains of gold, copper, green and russet in the oaks and birches and hazelnut trees.

"Aye so," he said, as a fox slipped across the wide flat path between the trees and disappeared. After a while the natural path narrowed and he moved in front of her. The wide, flat ground became more rugged. Now hillsides fell steeply away, where trees grew upright on slopes thick with bracken and fallen branches. Birds flitted through the trees overhead, quick and light. Then she noticed one bird appearing more than once.

"A hawk," she said, pointing. "Up there, do you see? It is here now, and I saw it back there as well. Sitting and watching us, as if it has been following us all along."

"The goshawk? Aye, he may be tracking us." He whistled then, a melodic sequence of a few notes, and repeated it.

As if in response, the hawk flew to a tree closer to them and settled high up.

"It almost seems like he is doing that deliberately," Tamsin said.

"He is. Look closely, do you see?"

She peered, hand shading her brow. "Oh! The jesses. I did not see them before. Where is his master?"

"We might see him soon. They have been watching us for a while."

"They?"

"Come out, you," he said to the trees, "and call your spy down from his perch."

Tamsin looked around, astonished. Then she heard a rustle of leaves and two men emerged. One, the larger of the two, carried a bow and quiver on his back; the other, lean and brown and strikingly handsome, wore a heavy glove. Stepping onto the forest path, the tall, lean fellow lifted the glove and whistled a sequence of notes. The pale goshawk sailed out of the tree to alight on the leather glove.

"Greetings, Sir William," the man said. "Is this the lady you went to fetch?"

"Lady Thomasina Keith, this is Sir James Lindsay of Wildshaw, who prefers these woods to his own castle."

"These woods are my castle. My lady," Lindsay said, and indicated the other fellow. "This is Sir Iain Campbell."

"Campbell!" Tamsin raised her brows. "I have heard of Iain Campbell—are you kin to Sir David Campbell? And Lady Edith?"

"I am," the man said. His voice was deep, distinctive. "I hope they are well."

"They are," she said, and smiled. His return smile was tense. Tall and broad with a wild mop of dark gold curls, he had an angelic face beneath that frown, beneath his scruffy beard.

James Lindsay lifted his hand and flicked his gloved wrist slightly. In a quick flurry, the bird left his hand and soared upward.

"What a beautiful bird," Tamsin said. "Thank you for the welcome."

"Jamie, my lady. We go by simple names here."

"Tamsin," she offered, and knew suddenly, surely, these were good men, intelligent and worthy, men who had made difficult and dangerous choices out of inner conviction, like Liam had done. Whatever brought them to the forest had not been easy.

Glancing at Liam, she felt shy and a little ashamed, for she had made unforgiving assumptions of him even while she insisted on truth. He smiled, and she felt humbled, hopeful. He had friends here; she sensed his ease, his comfort in these woods. Sensed he wanted her to like them as friends too. Truly she would try.

She glanced up. "That is a beautiful bird."

"Gawain!" James whistled and lifted his glove, and even before he raised it high, the bird sailed back to settle there, bronze eyes gleaming. James shut the bird's curious stare by popping a leather hood over its head.

"That is a very obedient goshawk," she remarked.

"Only when he deigns to be. Your cousin is anxious to see you. This way."