Chapter Twenty-Two

"Leave your horses here," James told Liam. "We will see to them."

Liam dismounted and helped Tamsin down from the dappled horse. "We cannot take the horses far into the forest here," he explained. "The slopes are steep and can be treacherous for them. We must walk the rest of the way." She nodded.

James Lindsay gave a hoot like an owl then, and a lad fairly dropped out of a tree just overhead. Without a word, he took the horses and led them into the trees.

"We have a stable through there—a hut in a clearing, well hidden, where the horses will be content. Our encampment is not far," James said.

Shouldering Tamsin's satchels, Liam kept a wary eye out of habit as they followed James along a path just visible through the thicket. He noted that Iain Campbell had gone ahead, out of sight now, bow in hand. Liam did not know him, but he remembered Sir Davey mentioning a nephew in King Edward's service, a knight and falconer. The man had vanished into the forest, rumored to have gone over to the rebels and enraging Edward by taking his favorite hawk. Liam wondered if this was that very nephew. If Lindsay trusted him, it spoke well for the quiet man forging ahead on the path.

As they walked, he thought of the events earlier that day—the fire at Holyoak, where his aging uncle was so vulnerable, where one of his brothers lived. Did Malise know that? Did Edward?

Tamsin thought the attack was because of her. But perhaps there was more to it. Liam frowned, so lost in thought that he nearly walked into a low branch, lifting it aside as Tamsin passed in front of him. Edward's words, gruff and snarled, came back to him.

You have family in Dumfries and Selkirk. A monk, an abbot, an abbess?Did the attack on Holyoak have something to do with Edward's threat—carried out by Malise?

"Not much farther now," Jamie said, turning. "This new place is well hidden."

"Deliberately," Liam agreed, taking Tamsin's hand to negotiate a steep incline. They walked along the mossy bank of a clear, rapid stream, a slender arm of the Ettrick Water that threaded through this part of the forest, its moist scent fresh, earthy, invigorating.

"Very deliberate. We were forced to move with the English thinning the forest toward the Shaws, where we had roots for a few years. This place, near Eldin Linn, is closer to Selkirk. The Sheriff of Selkirkshire is Aymer de Valence, one of Edward's trusted generals, so we are wary. But we are fortunate in the new sheriff deputy."

"The deputy?" Liam asked.

"A young knight sent here by Edward, but I suspect he is amenable to the cause."

"Can we be certain of his loyalty?" Liam asked. "The delivery we must make depends on that."

"Delivery?" Tamsin asked, looking from one to the other.

"The goods your brother brought here, with the young lady? I believe so. Bruce trusts this deputy. He is young, but smart. Looks the other way when he rides through the forest—and tells Valence he can find no sign of rebels."

"Interesting." Liam pushed another leafy branch out of the way for Tamsin.

"He reported to Valence that the rebels are too elusive and cannot be found easily," James went on quietly, walking beside him. "The deputy showed me the letter when we met at Wildshaw. Edward's general believes him, and Bruce trusts him."

"It is a tricky matter to balance both sides. Many of us have a foot in both camps."

"An art, I vow. You will meet him," James said. "Decide for yourself."

Liam nodded. Sensing Tamsin's curiosity, he knew he had not yet explained his larger mission for Bruce, the matter of rents and the growing list of those loyal to the cause. He owed her that, though it was crucial to the task to remain guarded, and part of his very nature to be reserved. Crucial, too, he thought, to be skeptical about this newcomer in the mix.

As they walked, he kept a guiding hand ready, knowing Tamsin was inexperienced on these paths and had to manage skirts as she went. At least he was not wearing cumbersome armor. At Holyoak, he had changed his chain mail in favor of his ring-studded leather hauberk over tunic and trews, with a hooded capelet of chain mail over the leather. Though not as protective, it would do. He carried a sheathed sword at his back and a dagger on his wide leather belt, and he had a shield—the Seton gold sheaves on a blue field—should threat arise. He had borrowed from Gideon's own gear kept at Holyoak. His brother had not given up the trappings of his old life entirely, still undecided.

The deeper they penetrated the woodland, the less chance there was of threat, he knew. The trees were so thick and densely leafed in places that little could be seen ahead, and steep hillsides formed dangerous angles into crevasses where a man could slide down, hitting branches, bracken, and rock, all the way to rushing streams.

Aware of that, he reached out to help Tamsin. But she did not need his bracing hand as she forged her way through the path with the others.

The tree cover was thick along the way, with ferns and bracken dense underfoot. The way was surrounded with late blooming buckthorn, cranberry, and rowan, with their red and orange berries. Patches of late straggling heather and gorse grew in clumps, crowding, lush, alive. Here and there, creatures skittered and flitted, and noisy streams sluiced and burbled on their own pathways, while small waterfalls poured from rock to rock. Ahead, light filtered through the treetops in sunset beams. Soon evening would shed cool light over all.

At last he heard the sounds of laughter and a few shouts, and smelled the rich smoke of charring meat. Seeing the glow of a fire, he glimpsed the encampment, seeing the side of a wattled hut.

Walking quickly now, they crossed a narrow burn, stepping stone to stone over the swirling water that formed a natural moat. Here Liam took Tamsin's arm as she kept her balance. Then James Lindsay pushed aside a network of branches to reveal a tiny rustic village in a clearing at the heart of the forest.

The opening James made snapped closed behind them as they entered the space.

Beside him, Tamsin gasped softly as she took it all in, crying out in delight as two young women approached. Liam recognized both—Kirsty, her long dark curls flying out behind her as she rushed forward, and her companion, a black-haired beauty with eyes bright as his own and a sweetly enlarged belly.

"Isobel!" He stepped forward to embrace her.

"I was startledat first to see the harper," Kirsty said. "We thought him dead!" She took Tamsin's arm as they circled the clearing, finding time at last to talk.

"I remember. And then he turned up a knight."

"With orders to remove me from Thornhill. Orders from Bruce!"

"Aye," Tamsin murmured. A little thrill of pride went through her at the knowledge that her handfasted husband was wholly dedicated to the Scottish cause. She had needed to hear it, needed to be in his confidence. He had more secrets, she was sure, ones he needed to keep close. And she also knew that King Edward could still find a way to keep Liam under his thumb. That royal threat was a common burden to many Scottish knights. She sighed, then smiled at Kirsty as her cousin talked on.

"—And Sir Gilchrist and Sir Finley were so courteous. Finley, especially, made sure to help me. He is still here, you know. He stayed here so I would not feel I was in a group of strangers. I thought it very kind."

"I have not seen them. Are they here?"

"They go out on patrol day and night. James Lindsay is a strong leader. I like him quite a bit. That bird of his, though, is a rascal. It throws more fits than a child, I vow. Have you met Lady Isobel?"

"Just briefly. She is Liam's cousin. They were keen to talk." She glanced across the clearing to see Liam seated with the lady, a true beauty with ice-blue eyes. They had their heads together, deep in conversation.

"You will like her very much. There is something unique about her, as if she knows all you are thinking with those eyes of hers. But she is gentle and kind."

"Seton eyes. Liam has them too. His eyes absolutely pierce through you."

"I noticed," Kirsty said. "He mentioned that you married him, but you have not said a word of it yet!"

"There is so much to tell you. Did Liam explain it is a handfasting, not a true marriage? We had to do that because Sir Malise has become a threat."

"I know Malise demanded that you marry him, so you ran. Finley told me."

"Ran! I leaped from the very tower." Tamsin gave a rueful laugh. "Oh, Kirsty, I had to leave Dalrinnie as fast as possible. I wish you had been with me, I do. I would have agreed to a convent if the king had ordered it. I was prepared for that. But Edward ordered Sir Malise to marry me. Part of some scheme to ensure that Dalrinnie is completely in their control, I think. So I panicked and left."

"You did what you had to do. Had I been there, I would have gone out that window with you. Is Lady Edith still there?"

"Likely so. She had fits over me dropping out the window—all the bed linens and things, you would have laughed so to see it. She did not laugh, but still, she was a help to me. I asked her to make sure Oonagh was safe—Malise did not like the dog. And I hope he is not tormenting Edith over my departure right under her nose."

"If we are lucky, she is tormenting him."

Tamsin laughed. "Sir Davey would not allow his sister to be mistreated. But Sir Malise might expect her to serve ale and chop carrots. He has no respect for women, I think." She shook her head sadly. "I wonder if I will ever see Dalrinnie again, even with Liam being—" She stopped.

"Liam being what?"

Tamsin took her cousin's arm, leaning close. "Did I mention that Sir John never said much about the previous owner of Dalrinnie? He hinted the man was dead and forgotten. But the true owner of Dalrinnie, by Scots law—is Sir William Seton."

"Liam?"

"Aye. Forfeited, outlawed, and determined to gain it back, I can tell you."

"Could that be the reason you he married? It could prevent Malise from trying to do so. But—could Liam regain Dalrinnie through you this way?"

"He says not. There is a jumble of English law and Scots law, while Edward freely grants Scottish lands and titles that he does not oversee except by tyranny. If the English possess Dalrinnie, that settles it, to their way of thinking."

"You could return there if the Scots take it."

"Years from now, perhaps. That is too far ahead to think about." She might no longer be married to Liam then, she thought. "My things are there—my books, and the chests and boxes in storage that came with me from Kincraig. Some of it was part of my tocher, though Sir John spent any dowry that was in actual coin."

"Regaining Dalrinnie would take an attack now," Kirsty said. "They say Bruce has gained back some castles, but lives are lost, property too. Papa says Bruce evacuates people and then burns Scottish castles before he will ever let the English have them."

"Burn now, rebuild later," Tamsin said. "No wonder Bruce is proving a fierce foe. He might burn Dalrinnie rather than let the English keep it."

"Perhaps." Kirsty walked beside her for a moment. "Tamsin, have you heard of the curse of Dalrinnie?"

"The what?"

"My father mentioned it, but you never spoke of it, although you lived there."

"I never heard it. A curse?"

"Curse or prophecy—it came from Thomas the Rhymer. I thought you knew."

Startled, Tamsin stopped and stared at her. "What did Thomas say?"

"Apparently many years ago, he said none who hold Dalrinnie will keep it, until something happens. But Papa could not remember the whole of it. Something about barons losing the castle. And something about a harper. That caught my attention."

"I know nothing of it. But I do not know all that Grandda said or predicted—no one ever will. Sir John never mentioned it, so perhaps only family know about it." She resolved to ask Liam when the chance arose. But she wondered if she had overlooked it among the Rhymer's notes; she would search those old, worn scraps of writing again.

"Every castle in Scotland has its legend or its ghost, I think. And if there is a curse on Dalrinnie, let it fall on Malise and no one else," Kirsty said firmly.

"Just so." Tamsin frowned, thoughts whirling. Was there some connection between Thomas and Dalrinnie?

Isobel, always gracefulin Liam's regard, had a pinkish and healthy glow as she sat smiling up at him. She was dressed as simply as any crofter wife in a long brown tunic and wrapped boots of soft leather, her sleek dark hair plaited in two long braids. The last he had seen her, she had been a pale, silent, elegant lady with dark shadows under her eyes, haunted by secrets. Inner calm shone through her now, though only natural backbone had helped her survive being used by others to prophesy against her will—and to endure an English siege before James Lindsay had found her.

Well, Liam remembered, initially James had abducted Isobel, believing that one of her so-called prophecies had deliberately ruined him, caused harm to his family, even worse, impacted Wallace's death. James had only the truth, but soon enough, Liam's friend had discovered that Isobel was more a victim than James realized—

That gave him pause. Liam glanced at Tamsin, walking across the clearing with her cousin. He was discovering, as James had, that a woman with the Sight was a complicated and fascinating creature and a treasure of great value.

"Liam?" Isobel asked. "You seem far away."

He smiled. "Just enjoying our reunion, lass." He was learning how well Lady Isobel had taken to life in the forest, and what a help her uncanny ability was in warning her husband of danger or a reassurance of peace. Tamsin and Isobel had more in common than they could know.

"The child is due mid-winter, as I was saying. I will not be here in the woodland much longer if my husband has his way."

"I am not sure he will have his way," Liam chuckled. "But you know he is concerned for your wellbeing and the child's. If it were my wife, I would want her safely tucked away as well."

"I know. And you have a wife now! I did not expect that news of you. She seems lovely. I wonder—an odd question, but does your lady have a touch of the Sight?"

"I think so. How could you tell? Does one seer recognize another?"

"No more than anyone else. But Finley said she is kin to Thomas the Rhymer, so I wondered. And when I met her, I saw a lovely soft light all around her. She has clarity and strength," she said, "and she cares for you."

"Does she?"

"Oh, so much. I saw it in her eyes when she watched you. I am glad you married this one."

"Just a handfasting," he confessed. "Temporary."

She gave him a doubtful look. "Is it? I think it is just what you need. What you both need. Something troubles her, and you have such steadiness. She will benefit from that."

"She does not share that opinion, I think." He shrugged. "She does have the Sight. I have seen it come over her like a storm. It passes quickly but frightens her."

"It can come on that way. Once I found some peace in my heart, it came easier. Now it is natural, something ordinary and reliable. So Lady Tamsin's kinsman was a prophet," she mused, looking toward Tamsin and Kirsty.

"So they say. The gift of the Queen of Faery, if one believes it."

"Life is more than what we see here on the earth, more than heaven above and hell below. I have seen more layers, and God's salvation and peace is there for all. But I do not debate that with priests," she laughed. "Well, Gideon and Uncle Murdoch both understand the world is wider and more magical than we can truly know."

"You," he said, "have grown into a wise woman."

"Always was, but no one asked." She knocked his arm gently, teasing. "Your Tamsin must guard what she can do until she is sure of it. And you—my dear, she is a fortunate lass. You are a rock. You understand and respect her where others might not."

"She does not put much faith in me, my dear. With reason," he added.

"Not yet," she murmured. "But she will."

He cocked a brow in doubt.

"She will." Isobel set a hand on his arm. "It is so good to see you. Now tell me about Gilchrist and Gideon. I miss them so, though Finley told me the twins felt the need to help at Holyoak for now. But oh, those two played such pranks on us as children." She laughed.

"They did. And still look too much alike. But Gideon's tonsure does help to tell them apart," he drawled.

Late that night,Tamsin rested beside Liam on a thick bed of sheepskins and woolen blankets that cocooned them in warmth. With her head on his shoulder, she listened to his breathing, his heartbeat, even and deep. Untroubled and soothing, his rhythms wove with the random sounds of the forest at rest; wind rustling through leaves, branches creaking, birds and small animals fluttering, chittering, chirping. Never silent, even at night, the woodland sounds surrounded her under soft moonlight. Closing her eyes, she cozied against the man she could call husband.

But she was not ready to do that yet. She had so many questions, including about the hint that he knew more about the Rhymer than he let on.

Yet here, now, he felt so familiar, warm and strong and safe, her head on the firm pillow of his arm, his heartbeat thumping under her cheek, his body blending with hers. They were not strangers in that sense now. And yet he was distant, an enigma still. As she was to him, perhaps. They had much to learn about each other.

They had no home, no celebration. Their marriage had been based on rescue rather than love and affinity. She knew what she deeply wanted: the shield and comfort of family, a peaceful home, a future of hope and happiness, infused with love and passion. A dream, truly.

But she did not know if he shared that dream, or if their agreement, the rescue and favor of this marriage, would last even a year. If she truly had the Rhymer's gift, it did not seem to help her know what to do, what to think.

Word by word and step by step, she would have to make her own way, she told herself. Page by page and promise by promise, she would do what was necessary, walk through what lay ahead—adventure, danger, challenge… Even love, dared she dream it. She wanted to think it waited for her—just here, in his arms.

She was not ready to open her heart and her hopes entirely though. Her instinct to protect herself was so honed now that drawing in was more familiar ground than acceptance. But now she truly yearned to be free of that wall if she could find a way.

Shifting, she felt his arm snug her close, his breath over her brow as he slept. Sighing, she closed her eyes.

She stood on the slope of a hill. Dalrinnie soared above her and behind her the forest was a spreading filigree of dark branches against a red-gold sunset. She looked about for the knight, the one who had been there when she had left this castle. This time she did not sway precariously but rather stood on solid ground. Waiting.

The knight did not come. She stood alone, her hair long and loose, blowing back in the breeze. She had no shoes, no cloak, and stood shivering in the cold, wrapping her arms about her, waiting—for what? She was not sure.

Then, suddenly, without warning, horses were upon her—giant beasts, their legs strong and rapid, their forms huge, powerful. Then she saw knights on their backs, chain mail sparking like fire in the sunset—

An arm, stout and strong and cased in chain mail, swooped out and down to pluck her up as if she weighed nothing. The man tossed her over the saddle pommel.

The sunlight went out like a candle flame and the world went black.

Then she saw an iron frame, black and cold under her gripping hands. A dungeon door. A cage.

Tamsin, the knight called from far off. Tamsin—

But he would not find her in the darkness, would not see her trapped inside the iron bars. She cried out—

Startled awake, she caught back a sob. "Where are you—?"

"Here. Just here," Liam said, his arm braced around her.