Chapter Eight

"He gave me time to think," Tamsin told Lady Edith, "so I think I will leave now."

"This is madness," Lady Edith answered.

Grabbing a linen shift from inside a wooden chest, Tamsin tossed it to the growing pile of things she intended to take with her. "It is best."

Picking up the shift, Edith folded it. "You are making a mess and talking nonsense."

"I am perfectly calm." Tamsin balled up a pair of long, cream-colored woolen hose to add them to the rest. "I know what I need to do."

"Walk out the gate bold as brass with a satchel on your shoulder?" Edith pointed to the leather bag on the floor. "You would be stopped as soon as you are seen."

"Then I must not be seen." She threw a pair of leather slippers after the hose. "Not the gate. The window. With that." She pointed to the pile of bed linens coiled on the floor. In the middle of the night, while Lady Edith snored on a little cot in the corner, Tamsin had knotted together every bedsheet and linen towel she could find.

"Where would you go, even if you could get away? Lady Kirsty is at Thornhill now, but they say it may be taken by English soon. Her father would take you in."

"Sir Malise would send men there, knowing they are my cousins." She sat back on her heels. "Edith, please, you must not tell anyone what I am doing."

Lady Edith sputtered. "I promised you I would not, even if it is lunacy."

"I am grateful. But I do not want you to be in trouble, so you must know very little." Last evening, she had told Lady Edith some of what had happened in the hall, enough to vent her anger and fear. It had been good to talk to the older woman about it.

"Shall I say I woke up to find the bed linens hanging out the window?"

"If you must. Sir Davey will make sure you are free of blame. I shall go to Kincraig to find my sisters," she continued. "I am determined."

"You are mad, is what you are." Lady Edith picked up the shoes and other things and shoved them into the satchel.

"I wish I had found my brother," Tamsin said, rummaging in the chest. "But they may have news of him at Kincraig. He intended to go there, at least by year's end."

"Stay here and we can send word to Kincraig once more. You have not heard back from them, last you sent word."

That was true. She only hoped her sisters were still there and that the place had not been affected by English takeover. "But if I stay here, I will be dragged to the church steps and married tomorrow. There is no time."

Edith sighed. "Aye then. What about the monastery at Holyoak? You have friends there. They would give you sanctuary until you come to your senses. The abbot is a kindly man. And that nice young monk let you use their library when we visited."

Tempted by the idea, she shook her head. "Sir Malise knows I have visited Holyoak. He might look for me there."

"Then go to Thornhill, to Kirsty and her father. It is closer than Kincraig. That is, if you can get even out of the castle with all these soldiers here. And do not ask my brother for help. Davey Campbell should not suffer for your foolishness." Even trying to be supportive, Edith had an edge.

A little thread of fear grew. Ignoring its pull, Tamsin glanced toward the window shuttered against the night air. A gap in the wooden panels showed darkness lifting toward dawn. She had only slept a little, restless all night thinking about the demands and the threats made by Malise and the king as well.

Leaving Dalrinnie seemed the only way to escape imminent marriage. Striving to be calm, Tamsin lifted a gown of dark gray wool from the wooden chest. The hem was embroidered with laurel sprigs, traditionally regarded as lucky by the Keiths, who displayed laurel on shields, garments, doorways, and in brooches for good fortune. The gown was comfortable and warm, and she needed some luck and fortitude.

"I will wear this." Stripping off her plain gown, she dropped the soft gray wool over her shift, belting it.

"Stay here. We will send a message to Baron Thornhill," Edith tried again. "Someone will come."

"I would be married by the time word reaches him." Closing the chest, Tamsin went to a small table, where she had collected some things to bring with her. She sorted through the items—a few small books, a leather pouch containing quills and lampblack for ink. Lastly, the beautifully polished wooden box that Thomas had given her, along with a packet of folded parchments wrapped in leather. "I must find my family. But first I must see the bookman in Selkirk before Comyn goes there. Malise wants what I gave the bookseller, you see."

"The one who came to Holyoak when you brought your pages there? What does Sir Malise want with those old scraps of writing you copied? Such a lot of work you did, and for what?" Edith shook her head. "It makes no sense to me."

"I did the work for my family. And I love doing it." She slid the books into a woolen sack.

"You could go to a convent. Lincluden is not far from Thornhill. That is, if you survive this mad scheme to leave here."

"I will. Edith—I want you to do something for me."

"I am doing enough," Lady Edith complained. "What else?"

"Oonagh. Tell Sir Davey—privately, please—that he must put her somewhere safe, and ask him to take care of her. She will miss me, and I do not want Sir Malise to catch sight of her. Please do that. I will worry so."

"Oh, fine. She is a good hound. I will tell Davey. Why are you taking more books? This is all madness! Here, you will need good shoes." Edith crammed slippers in with the books as she spoke.

Tamsin knew it was a mad scheme. Silent, she took up her blue and green plaid cloak and drew it over her shoulders, fastening it with the heavy silver and amber pin that had belonged to her mother. The pattern of dark colors would blend in the forest on her way to Selkirk, where she now realized she must go.

She would have to travel cautiously, even hide at times. Rebels lived in the forestland that covered the hills. If she encountered them, she could only pray they would aid a Scottish lady escaping the English.

Picking up a little book of hours, its boards wrapped in red leather, she handed it to Edith. "This too. And this." She took up a book of remedies that sat on a table.

"You and your books," Edith said, stuffing them in the sturdy bag of boiled wool. "This is too heavy for you to carry."

"I will be fine." She latched the buckle on the leather bag.

"Sir Malise will have an apoplexy when he finds you gone."

"Which is why I must leave while the castle is asleep."

"What if you meet outlaws?"

"I will pray they are friendly."

"You have an answer for everything. But this is a foolish thing you are doing."

"It may be. But I have to try." She rummaged in a small enameled box on a table, taking from it some coins, a jeweled pin, and two gold rings, which she dropped into the embroidered purse on her belt. She would need to pay her way here and there.

Her heart pounded. Truly, she was terrified. But she had no choice.

"Edward of England will be furious." Lady Edith gave it a final try.

"He has worse troubles than a young woman running from a marriage."

"He could take out his anger on your brother. And your sisters."

Her hands stilled on the pouch. Fear rose again, but she shook her head. "Henry is in the king's good graces. He has some privilege now. I did not agree with his choice to ride for Edward, but he was wise to seek protection there."

"Perhaps, but where is he when you need him?"

Malise had hinted that Henry was in danger. Hands shaking, Tamsin opened another box tucked on a shelf and took out a slim leather sheath with a small ivory-handled dagger within. The engraved steel blade gleamed in the candlelight.

"Veritas vincit," she read. "Truth conquers. The ancient motto of the Keith clan."

"Being truthful is not always helpful to you Keiths," Edith muttered.

"Aye well." Tamsin looked toward the window, where light infused the darkness. "I must go before dawn breaks."

She embraced Edith, who clung to her. "At least try the door. If you can go that way, you will not risk a broken neck. Silly lass."

"Very well." Shouldering the leather satchel and the heavy woolen bag, she went to the door, eased it open, then closed it quickly.

"There is a guard outside," she whispered. "Sleeping by the steps. Malise must have sent him. I must go out the window. Please, Edith, help me."

She went to the window, pulling open the shutter to a fresh blast of cold air. "I knotted one end of the linens to the stone pillar. Help me test it."

Together they tugged on the fabric. "It will hold," Edith declared. "But it is a far drop to the ground."

"Henry taught me to climb ropes when we were children. It was a game we played. Our mother hated it," she added, kneeling on the seat beneath the window that was set with thick glass above and shutters below. She opened the shutters farther and leaned to look out.

Her cloak blew back and her hair lifted in loose tendrils. The tower was a dizzying height, and she saw that the ground was still coated with a light snowfall from two days earlier. Snow in October was unusual, and the grass would be slippery.

Something tapped at her memory and fled.

"Wait," Edith said. "We will go to market and you could slip away then."

"I tell you, I will be married before then if Comyn has his way. Nor would he let me go anywhere without a close escort." Again, something flitted through her mind, just beyond her racing thoughts and rising panic.

This was lunacy. She gazed out over a canopy of dark treetops. Dawn was just a slight lifting of gray, the crescent moon still high. The castle perched on a slope that descended toward forestland that spread thick, dense, and dark for miles. She could hide there and travel for quite a distance on her way to Selkirk.

She knew of a tavern along the road where she could go directly, perhaps hire a horse, even a cart and driver. But she had to go. The alternative was unthinkable.

With Edith's help, she hauled the makeshift rope of silken and linen sheets and blankets to the window. "It seems sturdy," she said, tugging again.

"Madness," Edith said.

"I cannot carry these down with me." Tamsin picked up the leather satchel and dropped it out the window, hearing the thud as it hit the ground. Next she sent the heavy woolen bag, praying her books and pages would not be damaged. Taking off her cloak, she sent it spinning downward. "Now I have to go. My things are down there."

"You will freeze to death. You will break your neck. You are deranged."

"I am desperate. I love you, Edith," she said impulsively. "Farewell. I will see you soon, I swear it. Soon we will be safe. All of us." Somehow, she thought.

Drawing a breath against fear, she sought the boldness she needed for this. Dalrinnie was no longer her home and haven. She would find her siblings and find the Rhymer's bound book, and keep it safe from Edward.

Setting her hands on the cold stone frame, wind nipping her cheeks, she boosted herself up to the sill, blew out a breath, and slid one leg out the window to find the makeshift rope with her foot. Straddling the sill, feeling the strength of the cold breeze now, she grabbed the linen draped over the stone framing and stretched her other foot downward to find the fat knot. Her gown billowed around her legs, and in an oddly ordinary thought, she was glad to have worn woolen hose.

Hands gripping thick fabric, she slowly, cautiously sought the next knot as her skirts blew in the breeze. Down and down she went, knot to knot, swinging on the rumpled line like a clapper in a bell.

One of her boots loosened and fell. Cold wrapped her foot, but her step was sure on the rope. Pausing, she glanced down.

Then she remembered the dream. The knight. Herself on the rope. It was true. Some of it, at least. The rest was foolish, she thought. No one was there to catch her.

She went slowly, carefully. The wind batted her about like a willow wand as she inched downward.