Chapter Six

Evening dropped steel gray and quiet as Liam stood watching Dalrinnie Castle through bare-branched trees patterned against the sky. The woodland settled around him, hushed and darkening. Beside him, a chestnut stallion nuzzled for grasses in a thin layer of early snow. His sight-hound, tall and alert, stood beside him, wiry coat the color of thunderclouds.

Home.He had come here as fast as he could, having slipped free of that fool Malise Comyn. A few troublesome days, but easy enough to get away. He was just deeply glad to be standing here now, gazing up at his home.

Dalrinnie towered on a hilltop in blue dusk. The sentries walking the parapet were unlikely to notice the knight standing among the trees at the base of the long slope with its new coat of snow. Dalrinnie's woodland was part of the outermost fringe of the vast dense tracts of Ettrick Forest—The Forest, as it was called—a massive canopied woodland of oak, birch, green gullies, rushing streams, and endless paths that only some knew. The English had never been able to penetrate it.

All was quiet now, but not an hour ago, dozens of English troops arrived to be hallooed through the opening portcullis. They were led by a temporary commander, so Gilchrist had reported earlier that day. More would come soon to fill the garrison.

He had escaped Comyn's capture by working his way free of the ropes that bound him tossed over a horse's saddle. Dropping to the ground to roll away, he had run into the woodland and away. Now he flexed the shoulder that ached from the fall. No matter.

He had met with his brother Gilchrist and cousin Finley, knowing where to find them, and then made his way up the River Annan to the safety of the Ettrick Forest. There he met with friends, found the knight's gear he had packed away, and borrowed a horse. All the while, he had worked out a plan.

He would find Lady Tamsin—Lady Thomasina—at Dalrinnie and obtain that bothersome but important book. Then he would take the lady and her book and go in search of Robert Bruce's latest encampment. Let the renegade King of Scots decide what to do with the Rhymer's book and the wee Keith lady. Liam intended to return to the forest and the fold of loyal men, all of whom had broken their fealties to King Edward for the finest reasons—freedom and dignity and the right to defend their own.

His greatest risk in this, he realized, was not his life, but the lives of his kin who were dedicated to the Church. Edward knew about them. Liam had to reach them, warn them, and convince them to go elsewhere, for they would be as hunted as any outlaw once Edward learned what Liam had done.

Just yesterday, Gilchrist heard that King Edward had taken to his bed, ill again, unable to hold audience, accept fealties, or even issue orders. The king's illness could give Liam and then Bruce the time needed in this matter of the Rhymer's book.

"You could find the lady of Dalrinnie," Gilchrist had suggested, "get this book, and bring it to Edward as ordered. You will know what the book contains, and can take that knowledge to Bruce. That is worth something. And if Edward is pleased, you will be in command of Dalrinnie."

Liam shook his head. "I do not want Englishers in my castle."

"Then just be careful," his brother had cautioned.

Now Liam stood on his forested land, gazing at his castle, deciding what to do.

Here, in Dalrinnie's shadow, boots on Dalrinnie soil, he could think more clearly. Here, he asked himself if he could obey Edward and betray friends and kin, and knew he could not. But he knew how to proceed. It began with the lass and the book.

He only needed to get inside the gate and ask for the young widow. But fresh English troops had arrived. That was a problem.

Gazing at the castle now, the nearly forgotten verse came back to him. Thomas the Rhymer had uttered a prediction for Dalrinnie long before Liam's birth. His grandfather had heard it from the prophet's lips and had told his son, who repeated it to his sons, Liam being the eldest. He had struggled to remember it in Edward's hot and stuffy chamber. Now it came clear, still a puzzle.

Dalrinnie, Dalrinnie,

Towers high, walls bold

Knight nor baron can hold

Nor good fortune unfold

When Dalrinnie falls three times and more

No king can restore, nor harp sing its lore

And Scotland will burn—

He had always thought something was missing, but that was what was shared between generations. Part had proven true, so the Setons of Dalrinnie called it a curse rather than a prophecy. Knights nor barons could hold the castle, and it would fall three times and more. His grandfather had lost it; his father had regained it; then Liam had lost it. That was twice. Did Sir John Witton count as the third—or was defeat reserved only for Setons? He rather hoped Malise would be the fourth, he thought sourly.

He had learned the harp because of that verse, but he had lost the castle anyway. And now his very harp was gone. Sighing hard, he watched the tower on the hill.

Beside him, the dog made a low, gruff sound. Liam rested a hand on the great gray head. "Hush, Roc, mo charaid. Soon we will go home." Home was a forest encampment; home was Dalrinnie. He meant both.

The castle was his boyhood home and his inheritance, and he wanted it back, wanted his kin and tenants safe, too. King Edward had no right to claim any Scottish fortress, yet he did so with abandon. Which meant Liam must proceed carefully.

Watching the castle walls, he thought about the young widow inside. In the forest, he had asked others what they knew of Witton's widow. She was quiet, they said. Small and veiled, sometimes seen riding to hawks and hounds with her husband; sometimes she visited the monastery at Holyoak to speak with the abbot and look at books. The lady was inordinately fond of books, they said.

Books.Curious, Liam thought. And she knew Holyoak. So did he.

They said, too, she was generous to the Church and good to her servants, a true lady in spirit and demeanor. But it was expected that soon Edward would send her to a convent and fully claim Dalrinnie for the English.

That meant Liam must act soon. Lady Tamsin had become not just the lady with the book. She was his best hope of seeing his plan through.

The dog woofed, and Liam heard the crackle of brush behind him. Turning, he saw Gilchrist and their cousin, Sir Finley Macnab, riding slowly along the forest path, Gilchrist in the king's red, Finley as well. Liam waited, stretching his left leg, easing the ache in his knee, an older injury. Leather creaked, chain mail rustled. He hated the red surcoats his brother and cousin wore, declaring them king's men despite their true affiliation. But the colors provided an advantage, including the convenience of authority.

Glancing again at the castle, he saw a light glimmer high in a tower window. He knew the location. The lord's bedchamber. A shadow moved past the window, fairy-like, graceful.

She was there, he thought. Lady Tamsin, all cream and golden and delicate. He felt sure of it somehow. For a moment, he thought of Beatrix, gentle, sweet, and gone. Loneliness swamped him for a moment. Life had wrenched his dreams away.

So be it. He had no time for happiness. He had bargained with the devil and must see it through.

As Gilchrist and Finley came toward him, he patted the dog's head. "So, Roc. We will come back here one day. But for now, the lads will take you to a safe haven, aye?"

His dog was more than dear to him, a valuable creature, and all he had left of the Dalrinnie he knew. The dog was power and calm, his friend. No one knew if all of his dogs had survived the fire that had brought the English in and sealed Liam out. That mystery had near broken his heart. But if Witton and his lady had hunted with large hounds, perhaps his dogs were alive and cared for. He had to trust that.

"Seen enough of your castle, then?" Gilchrist asked quietly.

"For now. Soon I will knock on the gate. Then I will see more of it, hey."

"Better you did that with a thousand Scots at your back," Finley said.

"And where are they?" Liam glanced around. The others chuckled. "I will get the book. You take the dog to Holyoak for safety. Then—" He paused. "I will do what I must."

"We have your back, lad," Finley said. "Always."

Liam nodded, throat tightening.