Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (22 page)

When the group had moved beyond earshot, he said, “I wonder if Edward Colville may have had reason to seek out your sister. Having learned she was here, mayhap he wanted to make a point to her, and to others, by openly declaring his rights. But I heard some news earlier that may interest you—and your father, too.”

“I do not mean to tell my father about this morning’s incident unless I must,” she said. “He would see naught in Edward Colville’s behavior to justify my reply.”

He was more in agreement with Sir Malcolm than she knew but said only, “Thomas Colville’s heiress has evidently changed her mind about marrying him.”

She smiled mischievously. “Do not look to me to commiserate with Thomas, sir. I think the lady shows wisdom. Who is she?”

“The lady Catherine Gordon of Huntly,” he said. “I do not know the family personally, but her father was a man of wealth enough to interest Fife. ’Tis said Catherine’s inheritance includes properties that provide a significant income.”

“So, one would assume that the Governor has become her guardian.”

“He has, aye, and will act as trustee of her income until she marries.”

“Only till she marries?” She looked at him. “That is not his usual habit, is it, sir? The estates his brother David of Strathearn’s little daughter inherited did not go to her or to her husband, and Fife married her off straightaway, at the age of six.”

“That was different,” Simon said. “Margaret of Strathearn is Fife’s niece, and David’s estates were Stewart estates. Fife considered it his duty to retain them for the Crown just as any family will fight to keep family estates under its control. Recall Isabel’s battle to keep Fife from taking the estates James left her.”

“Aye, sure, so how did you learn that Catherine Gordon changed her mind?”

“Deduction,” he said. “Another chap waiting to learn if Fife would see him told me that her ladyship has vanished. The Colvilles are searching high and low for her.”

“But how does someone like that disappear?” Sibylla asked. “She must have an army of servants. Sakes, Fife must know exactly where she is.”

“Godamercy, lass, do you blame Fife for everything that goes amiss?”

“Do you believe he does
not
want to add Catherine Gordon’s property to the Crown’s holdings?” she retorted.

“I don’t know what he wants. I’ve not seen the man for eight months, and he was none too happy with me at the time.”

The look she gave him then was troubled. “Fife tends to eliminate people with whom he is unhappy, sir.”

“You sound like my mother,” he said. “Do you fear he will want my head just because I refused to let Rosalie marry at thirteen?”

“Men have died for irritating him less,” she said.

“Fife is too shrewd to order my death without strong cause. And why should he? He could not claim Elishaw, because my sisters would inherit. I’d like to see him try to wrest the estate from Buccleuch and Westruther.”

“I hope you are right, sir.”

He hoped so, too. Over the years he had seen Fife do many things that more powerful men than Simon had insisted he could not do.

Sibylla saw Simon’s expression turn thoughtful and hoped he was reconsidering his position with Fife. As companion to Isabel, she had learned much about the Governor’s devious ways and knew better than to assume anything about him.

Fife had long resented the order of King Robert the Bruce that the King of Scots’ eldest son must succeed him. Before Bruce, Scots had chosen their High Kings from powerful leaders of powerful Scottish families, and many believed the Bruce’s decision was a bad one that had weakened the Crown.

Fife certainly believed he was a better man to rule than his disinterested, crippled older brother. And many Scottish leaders, including the Douglas, agreed.

But most men of sense also knew better than to trust Fife. They knew he was not a man who exerted himself to avoid or overcome obstacles. He eliminated them.

A question occurred to her. “How
could
Catherine Gordon escape Fife?”

“Sakes, the man does not keep her with him.”

“But he must have taken precautions, put her under some sort of guard.”

“As far as I know, she was living at Huntly amidst her own people,” he said.

“Where is Huntly?”

“Near Aberdeen, a hundred miles or so north of here.” “Thomas Colville is unlikely to have any allies nearby then.”

“You take unnatural interest in a man you spurned, lass. Has Colville become more intriguing to you?”

“I pity anyone he seeks to marry, that’s all. And I am trying to understand why he sent for Edward Colville to come so quickly to Edinburgh. That detail concerns me because of Alice. I don’t trust either of the Colvilles, sir, particularly when I cannot guess what they may be up to. Nor do I trust your master.”

“He is not . . . That is, I mean to do what I can to distance myself—”

When he broke off and glanced around, she realized that more people had come outside to walk in the courtyard. Several were nearly within earshot.

“I expect we should return now,” she said.

“Aye, we should.” His voice hardened as he added, “Do not think that I commend what you did earlier, Sibylla, for I do not. I’ll admit you had provocation, but Edward

Colville will remember that you struck him long after he forgets that he provoked you to it—if he ever admits that even to himself.”

Understanding despite his stern look and tone that he was concerned for her, she said, “I will take care, my lord, as I hope you will. Prithee, do tell me if you learn more about the lady Catherine Gordon’s whereabouts.”

“Why does she concern you so?”

“Because if Thomas sent for Edward to help him hunt for her, they may both ride to Huntly. If they do, Alice can enjoy herself here without having to be always looking over her shoulder for Edward, and I may have a chance to persuade my father to undo this dreadful betrothal he has foisted on her.”

“Mayhap I should not report what I learn of her then,” he said lightly. “My master
,
as you call him, clearly wants her to marry Edward. He may even expect me to aid the Colvilles in their search for her.”

That Simon might have to go to Huntly with the Colvilles had not occurred to her, and the possibility disturbed her. She did not trust them. If they were acting for Fife, his motive in putting them together with Simon might have less to do with finding Catherine Gordon than with arranging for Simon to suffer an accident.

The thought made her shiver before she called herself firmly to order, deciding she was seeing demons where none were yet visible.

Simon was not a fool. He could look after himself.

At least, she hoped he could.

It was as well, she thought, that he had asked only if she had come to find Thomas Colville more intriguing. Had he asked about her spurned suitors in general, she could not so easily have replied.

Simon saw Sibylla to her chambers and then went to his room to change to a black doublet and trunk hose for his meeting with Fife. He had spoken lightly to Sibylla, but as he attached his ceremonial dirk in its sheath to his belt, he wondered if the Governor might send him with the Colvilles to search for their heiress.

He would strongly resist such an order. With raiders wreaking havoc in the Borders, Elishaw and its inhabitants to protect, and his little sister eagerly seeking a husband, it was no time for him to be riding a hundred miles farther from home.

He’d have to be away for a fortnight, perhaps longer.

It occurred to him that he did not want to leave just as he was getting to know Sibylla, either. But he shook his head at himself for letting any lass distract him from his duties, let alone from the ticklish business ahead.

The Governor’s high chamberlain escorted Simon upstairs to the room on the second floor that Fife used privately, rather than to his first-floor audience chamber.

The Governor sat by a crackling fire at a large table, facing the doorway. Dark red velvet curtains flanked the tall south-facing window from which sunlight spilled across the documents before him. Rounds of red wax for seals rested in a basket on the table, with the royal seal and other items needed for his duties nearby.

Fife was writing when Simon entered, so the chamberlain remained silent until he set aside his quill and looked up. Then, in a quieter voice than he employed in the audience chamber, the chamberlain said, “The Laird of Elishaw, my lord.”

Simon made his bow.

“That will be all,” Fife said to the chamberlain.

As Simon straightened, he saw to his astonishment that Fife was awarding him a friendly smile. He had seen that smile before, to be sure, but rarely directed at himself or at any other man in Fife’s service.

The Governor could be affable, even charming when he thought it would serve his purpose. He could also be harsh, forbidding, and thoroughly ruthless. His usual manner was chilly, his eye critical, and his fury terrifying when aroused.

Dark enough of hair and complexion to have stirred lifelong rumors that he was less Stewart than his numerous blond, Viking-like siblings, Fife was also of slighter build. He wore his black clothing elegantly, and having reached his fifty-first year, had acquired a dignity of age more plausible than the icy arrogance that had been habitual with him when Simon had first made his acquaintance.

Simon searched Fife’s expression for familiar signs of the anger he had expected to see but saw none. Instead of relaxing, he grew more alert.

“We greet you well, I trust,” Fife said.

“Thank you, my lord, aye,” he said.

“I am pleased that you were able to come to Edinburgh so swiftly and in such interesting company.”

Simon was beginning to understand but said only, “Interesting, my lord?”

“Aye, sure, for I am as well informed as ever. In troth, though, most of the castle knows by now that you arrived here in company with Sir Malcolm Cavers and his daughters. This renewal of interest does please me, Simon.”

Denial leapt to Simon’s tongue, but he bit it back, saying, “I was able to assist the lady Sibylla some days ago, sir. Her horse had run off, so I took her to my mother at Elishaw. Cavers had just come to fetch her when your message—”

“Do you mean to say,” Fife interjected, “that you do
not
mean to court the lady Sibylla? She must be grateful if you rendered her a service, and I do still favor such a match. She was perhaps too young before and most foolishly indulged.”

“That may be, sir,” Simon said, wishing he could think. For Fife to press him to agree that a match with Sibylla was still possible was an unusual tactic. But one did not offer the man a flat denial without knowing the ground on which one stood.

In the Governor’s presence, pitfalls could open right beneath one’s feet.

“I expect you to do your duty, Simon,” Fife said with a direct look. “I’m told that your mother has brought the lady Rosalie to seek a husband. We will see what prospects are at hand. Meantime, may we hope you have at last stopped playing Jack-of-Both-Sides at Elishaw and will devote your loyalty wholly to Scotland?”

“At present, my lord, we are lucky enough to enjoy a truce,” Simon said.

“During which, I expect you to learn what you can from your kinsmen to the south. If you keep a close watch on them, those connections may serve us when Northumberland next makes mischief, as certainly he will. I have heard complaints of such already. Pull up a stool,” he added with a gesture.

“Thank you, my lord,” Simon said, complying with silent thanks that Fife had not asked him directly if he would end Elishaw’s neutrality or spy on his English kinsmen. To forestall such questions and the orders that must follow, he said, “The news you have heard of reiving is true.”

“Aye, sure,” Fife said. “What can you tell me about it?”

“The raids began west of us, near Kershopefoot, whilst snow still lay on the ground,” Simon said. “They spread west toward Galloway first, but we’ve suffered increasing trouble in our area. I must tell you, though, I have found no evidence of an English leader—or one that anyone can name, come to that. My lads have caught no one. Nor have they identified any particular reiver.”

Fife frowned. “Mayhap you should investigate more across the line.”

“As to that, one of my Percy cousins may soon visit Elishaw,” Simon said. “Cecil Percy, Northumberland’s nephew, sent a messenger a sennight ago to apply for an invitation. I said he might come whenever he likes.”

“This Percy nephew is close to Northumberland?” “He is, aye, my lord, very close.”

“Excellent,” Fife said. “You must keep me informed of all he says.”

Recognizing signs of approaching dismissal, Simon stood. “I will do all I can, my lord, to learn who is initiating the raids.”

“Good lad,” Fife said at his most affable. “You must first see to your business here, of course, and we’ll see if we can find your sister a husband. So for the present let Douglas and his lot seek your raiders. I am pleased to see you, lad,” he added. “And
most
pleased that you have come to your senses.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Simon said, bowing.

“We will expect to see you at supper.”

“I have not yet formally presented my sister Rosalie to the court, sir.”

“I see no great need,” Fife said. “You must bring the lady Sibylla, too, I expect—and her younger sister, of course.”

“As to that, their father escorts them, but I believe we may sup with them.”

“Tell my high chamberlain to seat you together,” Fife said.

Simon bowed again, murmuring, “my lord,” as Fife returned to his papers.

Backing away, Simon left without another word.

In the antechamber, he drew a breath of relief before relaying Fife’s order—for such it had certainly been—to the high chamberlain.

Then, after sending a messenger to Isabel’s chambers, warning its occupants that they would sup in the hall that evening, he retired there himself for a time to seek friends more in touch than he was with the rumors and gossip of the castle. He knew he would find several who were willing to share all they knew.

Sibylla, Lady Murray, and their charges spent much of the afternoon preparing for the evening ahead. Alice and Rosalie were irrepressibly excited.