Chapter Four

In torchlight and shadow, Liam sat on a leather stool in the great hall near the hearth's warmth. The notes of his harp were all but lost in the din. Plucking a final chord that went as unnoticed as his song, he set the harp on the low stool positioned in front of him, and when no one called for another tune, he took a moment to sip wine from a cup and survey the room.

The hall was a bustling, noisy, smoky place, the light of torches and candles flickering over faces he did not recognize. Garrison soldiers were seated at long trestle tables while servants carried platters of food around the room. Searching for old Lady Thomasina Keith, the woman the king had mentioned, he could not help but notice young Lady Tamsin again, seated not far away. For a moment he studied her delicate oval face, her hair like spun gold, her eyes the gray blue of a thundercloud.

She sat with her companion at a table with Merton, the women two beautiful butterflies; the blonde wore a blue-and-green plaid cloak and the white veil of a married woman half-covering a long golden braid that spilled over shoulder and breast to pool in her lap. The other wore a russet cloak and dark gown, her long dark hair loose and uncovered, apparently a young lady unmarried as yet. They leaned together, murmuring, glancing about, looking wary, though the dark-haired girl smiled, coaxing it from the other.

Bold to wear a Scots plaid amid English soldiers, Liam thought in admiration. Lady Tamsin wore it proudly. She stood slender and straight, all grace and determination. She took a risk here, and he suspected she had the will and backbone for it. He had seen the snap of temper and intelligence in her eyes.

Then he noticed beside the dark-haired girl an older lady, bent and cloaked, head veiled, her mouth pursed like a beak. He could only hope this was Lady Thomasina.

He had heard enough earlier to glean that Lady Tamsin was sister to Sir Henry Keith, that Lady Kirsten was a cousin, that an older lady was with them. He knew too that they waited for Sir David Campbell, once his seneschal at Dalrinnie. So the man had stayed when the English took the place.

He frowned. Then Lady Tamsin must be the Scottish bride they said had come to Dalrinnie with Sir John Witton. He had heard the news; any mention of Dalrinnie whispered in alehouse or rumor had burned into his mind. But he felt bewildered. What tied Dalrinnie and these ladies to the old Rhymer's daughter?

No matter. He only meant to get that damned book and give it to Robert Bruce. The new King of Scots had known Thomas the Rhymer well, working with him for the Scottish cause. Bruce deserved to have that book far more than Edward did.

Missing a note, thinking about other things, he recovered and played on. He had to take the book to Bruce, perhaps take the lady to him as well. If she could help Scotland, and if all this could regain Dalrinnie Castle, then he would follow the old woman and this mad mission to hell and back if necessary.

For now, he must find a way to escort the ladies safely out of Lochmaben and convince the old one to give up her book. Then he would be on his way.

The women sat apart from Merton, the table strewn with plates and goblets, with platters piled with chicken, cheese, cakes, and more. The constable held out a cup for the ale a servant boy poured from a jug while the women picked at their food, speaking quietly. Lady Tamsin seemed tense, pale. No wonder. Merton's decision to keep them here was a subtle threat at a time when all Scotswomen were imperiled.

Liam meant to get them out of here. He had volunteered as their escort, and would take that responsibility to heart.

He sipped wine, watching the soldiers, noting the room. Best to spirit the women away tonight and help them find their Dalrinnie escort, he thought. Taking up the harp again, he began another tune, his fingers plucking chords as he sang, his voice carrying through the hall. No one paid him much mind, though he saw Lady Tamsin glance his way.

Ending the song, he noticed Lady Tamsin standing, walking toward him now. She had an uncommon beauty, simple, with a glow like a soft light within, and a tensile, shining strength. She took his breath away.

Stop, he told himself. Nothing, not even a beautiful girl, could take his mind from what he must do. He had walled off his heart to such.

He rang on the metal strings again to begin another song. A chunk of gravy-soaked bread landed at his feet, and someone laughed. Liam played on.

Yet when the young Keith woman came closer, almost standing beside him, he missed a note with a sour plonk. One of the strings had gone off-tune, its ivory peg loosening. The plonk became an annoying twang.

He did his best with the song, aware that she was just there, her cloak tossed back from her slender shoulders. She moved like a queen, yet she had a certain vulnerability, as if she was fearful, somehow.

What sank through him then, crown to foot, was a strong and surprising urge to protect her. All the Scotswomen here, but especially her. He frowned against it as his fingers stumbled once more on the strings, plonk-twang.

She stood but an arm's length away, listening, watching him. Her companions walked past, a sentry in their wake. The women were leaving. He should end the song and follow, or risk losing the old woman altogether.

As he rang off the harp, the weakened string spun off its peg, twirled out, and snapped the young woman's arm. Wincing, she rubbed her sleeve.

"My lady, I apologize." He gathered the string back. "Are you hurt?"

"I am fine." Her laugh was bell-like. "I forgive your harp."

"And the harper?"

"Oh, not he." She leaned toward him, her braid sweeping down, gold brushing his arm. Her silvery-blue eyes sparkled. "'Twas not the best of tunes, indeed."

"The truth pierces like an arrow." He set a hand to his chest in mock torment. "Though I admit, I am not the best of harpers."

"Then I wonder why you play. Or are you here for another reason?"

Her bluntness startled him. "For love of music, of course," he replied lightly, sliding the harp into its satchel.

The guard came forward. "Lady, you must come with us."

"I am speaking to the harper. Just a moment."

"I can see the lady to the solar," Liam said, buckling the leather cover.

"You are still playing for your supper, are you not?" the guard replied.

"I am done. A string broke, and I have no spare."

"Huh." The guard was uninterested. "Lady, you have only a moment." He walked away to wait with the two women by the door.

"A metal-strung harp has a heavenly sound," Lady Tamsin said. "I have heard most harpers use sheep gut, though some who use metal may have silver and gold in the strings."

"That is sometimes used for the two center strings. They ring the same note. We call them the Lovers." He glanced up and met her gaze.

"Are your strings lovers?"

For some reason, his heart surged. He looked away. "The strings of my clàrsach are humble brass wrapped with silver. They do well enough. I leave the lore and legend of it to harpers better than myself."

"My grandda was a harper. May I ask… Have you ever played at Castle Kincraig? You seem…familiar."

"I have not." But he knew the place. Standing, he settled the covered harp over his shoulder.

"Have you ever been to Dalrinnie Castle?"

She did not mince words, this one. He had not set foot in Dalrinnie's hall since before the place was stormed and overtaken by the English in his absence. "I have not entertained there, my lady."

"I only wondered where I might have seen you before. Well, perhaps it was just—never mind. Thank you for the music." She paused, then spoke again. "You said you were sent to escort us. Sir David Campbell sent you?"

"I just thought you were having some trouble, that is all. The others are waiting for you, my lady." He indicated Lady Kirsten, who approached with the older lady.

"Lady Tamsin, I told the guard we needed fresh air before we go upstairs. Would you like to go out with us?" The dark-haired girl's cheeks held a pink blush. She seemed anxious too, Liam thought.

"We cannot go out without the guard." The older woman sounded irritable.

"I would be pleased to escort you outside if you wish to go," Liam offered.

"The night air would be welcome," Lady Tamsin said. "If the harper would be so kind, we would not have to trouble the guard."

"This is inviting trouble," the old one said. The younger women did not answer.

"This way." Liam led them to the door of the hall and into the corridor. The guard was nowhere in sight, which gave him some ease, so he guided the women to the keep's outer door that opened on wooden steps descending to the bailey. As he went down, they followed, skirts whispering over the wooden platform and steps. The older lady groused under her breath, and Lady Kirsten shushed her.

The night air was chilly, the moonlight clouded over. In the yard, servants and sentries moved about, yet Liam saw no sign of the guard assigned to the women.

If he intended to spirit them away from here, he needed to act quickly. He looked about, seeing sentries on the battlements, soldiers milling in the yard, and the brewer loading empty kegs into his cart. None looked toward the small group by the steps.

The old lady fretted about the chill air and uneven steps as she came down. Liam turned and offered his arm. "Madam, if I may." He helped her down, and Lady Kirsten took the woman's arm. Turning to Lady Tamsin next, he offered his elbow.

"Hands off," the older lady barked. Liam tipped his head in apology.

"Master Harper." Lady Tamsin looked at him. "Are we safe out here?"

"Do not fret. I will watch after you."

"Sir." She set a hand on his arm. "I think you are here for another purpose. Whatever that may be, if you could help us leave this place, we would be in your debt."

"Do you want to leave now?" he whispered, bending closer to be heard.

"Very much." She looked at him, eyes so gray and limpid, they rivaled the moonlight. He saw earnest need there. "Please."

"What of your escort?"

"They should be here soon. I would prefer to wait outside the castle for them."

"Aye then." He touched her elbow lightly to move her ahead. The other women followed, the older one questioning, the younger, hushing.

The drawbridge was still open. That was luck indeed, for Lochmaben was surrounded by a moat, the open gate and drawbridge the only way out. Then he realized that the guards were waiting to let the brewer out before they shut the castle for the night.

That might be their chance.

"This way," he said, strolling casually toward the brewer. The women followed.

"Wat of Selkirk. Is that truly your name?" Lady Tamsin walked briskly beside him. He looked down and saw her regarding him curiously. "Why do you help us? What do you want?"

Again, he recognized that blunt manner, that quick perception. He found it intriguing, even charming. "I came here to look for someone and found you. But you can trust me, I swear."

"Where are we going?" the old woman demanded.

"Hush, my lady, please," the dark-haired girl said.

"He is helping us, dear," Lady Tamsin murmured.

"We do not need his help. He might be a spy."

"Not a spy, but a friend," Lady Tamsin said calmly.

"Hey! Harper—stop!" A guard hurried toward them, with another following.

Liam put out an arm to move Lady Tamsin firmly behind him with the others. He faced the guards. "The ladies wanted some air. The hall is crowded and smoky. I offered to escort them."

"Escort them back to the hall and be gone yourself," said the guard. Liam recognized him from the entrance gate earlier. "You were told to leave after supper. The ladies must return to the keep."

"Sir, we just came out to look at the moon," said Lady Kirsten.

"Which you have seen. Go back to the hall," the second guard ordered. "The harper must go out the gate."

"Let me see them to the keep." Without waiting, Liam ushered the women along. Then he glanced back to see that Lady Tamsin had stopped. She held a hand to her throat. "My lady, what is wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, her voice strained. Then, as if rousing from a dream, she gave her head a slight shake and hurried past him.

Men in a scuffle, blades shining in the moonlight. A man collapsing, his cloaked figure a dark sprawl on the ground. Harper-knight, the harper-knight—

Walking quickly, Tamsin put a hand to her head. The images that had just flashed through her mind—nightmarish and quick—were already gone. Her heart beat rapidly, her hands trembled. Just an instant, an unexpected vision—unwelcome, unsettling. She drew a breath against its effect, keeping it to herself. She had learned that lesson well in two years at Dalrinnie. Outside of her own family, visions were suspect and could condemn her as mad, or worse—even if they proved true, as some did.

But the harper had not fallen to the ground. He was here, safe and solid, striding beside her now. She drew a breath. Perhaps she should warn him of danger. Yet he would likely think it ridiculous—or lunatic.

"Is aught wrong, my lady?"

"Just… I feared the guards might stop you. Arrest you."

"For a moment, I feared the same." He chuckled so genuinely that she smiled. As she and the others followed the harper like ducklings, he led them across the yard.

"Where are we going now?" Lady Edith asked.

Another guard passed them, then stopped. "To the gate, harper," he said.

"I am escorting these ladies," he said. The guard shrugged, moved on.

The lady looked up. "Do you ever tell the truth, Master Harper?"

"Sometimes."

"Truth is always best, I think."

"Is it?" he murmured. "Sometimes life turns better on a falsehood than a truth, I have found. A small lie might help us see the light of a new day—and we can save friends from trouble. Truth, virtue though it be, can put us in the kettle."

She tilted her head. "Falsehoods help us survive and avoid disaster?"

He laughed. "That is not quite what I meant. Some events in my life have peeled away my ideals like an onion, my lady. Now I see the nature of truth as layered."

"Oh," she said, surprised, not having thought of it that way. "I suppose it is."

"Once," he went on, "I was an honorable fellow with noble aspirations. I defended what was right and spoke out in truth when others did not dare. Had I been more…nuanced, you see, a friend might yet be alive." His voice went graveled, fierce.

"I am sorry. I think you are an honorable fellow, Master Harper."

"Thank you," he said simply.

She craved suddenly to know more about him, to ask who he was, where he came from—but a commotion of shouts and hoofbeats sounded near the gate. She saw knights on horseback pounding across the drawbridge and into the courtyard, dismounting and calling out, urgent and impatient.

Even in darkness, she knew the lead knight. She caught her breath and stepped behind the harper, grateful for the shield as she watched Sir Malise Comyn dismount.

"Is aught the matter, Lady Tamsin?" The harper turned, drawing his hood deeper over his brow as he spoke, despite the shadows where they stood.

"I do not want that knight over there to see me. The one in the blue cloak."

"Aye, he is one to avoid."

"You know him?"

"A bit."

Sir Malise Comyn had worked often with her late husband as a Scots lord scheming with an English lord on behalf of Edward's invasion. Overhearing those discussions, Tamsin worried for her kin and all Scots, especially after Robert Bruce killed Sir John Comyn, a cousin of Sir Malise. Just last February inside a church, of all places, Bruce had stabbed his rival for the throne and then rode off to claim the Scottish throne and begin to build a resisting army. The chain of deeds last winter had given the rebellion new heart, even though their leader was now an outlawed king in the heather.

Scottish to her bones and unable to speak freely inside Dalrinnie's walls, Tamsin had seen events conspire from the perspective of an English garrison. She understood Sir Malise Comyn's fury and indignation as he called for revenge and gained King Edward's support. She saw the king promote him, grant him lands, feed his wrath, and order him to find Bruce at any cost. Sir John Witton and all Dalrinnie had been drawn into that vortex while she watched.

Oh aye, she knew Sir Malise. She knew he thought less about honor than advantage, less about revenge than royal favor. Less about others than himself.

If Sir Malise saw her here, he would press her about her purpose and perhaps her brother. That could lead to uncomfortable questions about Henry's loyalty. She stayed behind the harper, watching Comyn.

The harper noticed and took her arm. "Come with me."

"Where are we going?" Edith asked.

"Shh!" Kirsty said. "Just come with us, my lady."

"Hey! Harper!" The brewer called from his cart. "Do you need a ride? I am off home while the bridge is down."

The harper walked toward him. "Master Brewer, might you have room for more?"

The man leaned forward to talk quietly. "Scotswomen? Och, aye. Get in the back." He gestured, and the harper waved the ladies toward the cart.

"The man is a friend," he told them. "He will take you outside."

"In an ale cart?" Lady Edith asked indignantly. "We will wait for our escort."

"We cannot risk that, dear." Tamsin looked over her shoulder. Sir Malise and the others were talking, now gesturing toward the keep. Malise turned, glancing around the yard with interest. She touched the harper's arm. "Please, we must go!"

He did not question, only drew her toward the cart to boost her inside. His touch was warm and strong; somehow Tamsin felt the tingle of it along her spine.

Sitting in deep straw, she curled her legs under her cloak. Within moments, Kirsty sat down beside her, helped by the harper. Then he turned to Lady Edith.

"Allow me to help you, madam, so you can all leave."

Edith pursed her lips. "Very well. Only because the girls want to do this. And I do not like this place. Nor do I like that one over there." She pointed to Sir Malise.

"I agree, my lady." He helped her to clamber up to the bench beside the brewer.

"Ye're safe here, luv," the brewer told her. "I may need yer help if ye sit there. Just smile and wave at the gate. You could help save us all, my luv."

Edith raised her brows and began to speak. Tamsin held her breath, but the older lady nodded. "Whatever we must do to get away from that fellow." She looked again at Sir Malise.

The harper stood by the cart. "Keep quiet and out of sight. All will be well."

"Are you coming with us?" Tamsin asked.

"They expect me to leave alone, and they are unlikely to question the brewer. Duck under the straw." Tamsin and Kirsty complied, hefting straw and cloaks to cover themselves.

She heard him hit the side of the cart. "Go!"