Amanda Scott - [Border Trilogy 2] (25 page)

“Will the guards let us up there at night?”

She heard a smile in his voice as he said, “I know you don’t like Fife, lass, but there are some advantages to being in his service. Most of the guards know me, so we’re bound to find at least one man up there that does.”

“They will probably know me, too,” she reminded him.

“You can put up your hood if you don’t want them to recognize you. But I warrant they will say little if they do.”

“The truth is, sir, that I’d liefer they not hear what you mean to say to me.”

“I don’t shout at people, Sibylla. Anything I may say to you, I will say quietly. But I did not pluck you from that cauldron downstairs to berate you.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because I think it is our parents’ business to deal with what happened tonight. Neither of us was chiefly at fault. When we walked away, your father and my mother had taken charge of Rosalie and Alice. Therefore, I thought it best that we absent ourselves now and leave them to deal with the consequences.”

“My father disagrees with your assessment of where the fault lies, sir.”

“I fancy I have adjusted his assessment,” Simon said as they reached the upper landing and he leaned past her to open the heavy door onto the ramparts.

His breath tickled her neck, sending unfamiliar tremors through her.

“He did look at your mother as if he was sorry, but I thought he was only sorry that I had failed them both,” she said. “Whatever did you say to him?”

Touching her back gently again as he nodded to the nearby guard, he guided her across to the north side of the crenellated battlements. “I told him what Colville did tonight,” he said. “I also told him how indebted I am to you for intervening on Rosalie’s behalf. I told you the same, and by my troth, lass, it is true. I do blame myself somewhat for what happened, as I know you blame yourself. That’s
just
why I decided to keep us out of the scene taking place now downstairs.”

“Alice and Rosalie may be wishing we had not left them,” Sibylla said.

“Whatever Alice may wish, Rosalie is
not
wishing I had stayed,” he said. “Sithee, I want our sisters to understand that
they
are at fault. I don’t want them being confused by anyone else’s attempt to take blame or cast it elsewhere.”

She understood what he had done for her and was not sure how she felt about it. It had been long since anyone had taken her part in a dispute. In the meantime, she had learned to fight her own battles and had forgotten how satisfying it could be when someone else entered the fray to ease that burden.

They stood silently on the parapet between two of the seven-foot embrasures for archers—called crenels— looking out over the four-foot wall between them.

The moon, nearing its half, shone brightly on the North Loch below and the waters of the Firth in the distance. The loch was still and glassy. But the Firth’s frothy waves capered like so many tiny white horses across a dark field.

Resolutely, but without looking at him, she said, “I should tell you that Rosalie now knows or at least suspects that we nearly married.”

“Edward Colville?”

“Aye, he said I’d ill-treated you just as I had Thomas. I’d told your mother and Rosalie that Father arranged three marriages for me, but did not say with whom.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I shall have to tell my mother before your father decides he can no longer keep it from her.”

Relieved, Sibylla said with a sigh, “ ’Tis a beautiful night, is it not?”

“Aye, but we cannot stay up here too long,” he said.

A rough note in his voice made her turn and look up at him.

Simon wondered what was getting into him. If he had not learned by now that being alone with the lady Sibylla was a mistake, he damned well ought to have learned. At least, here on the ramparts, he should have been able to count on the guards’ presence to quell any unseemly impulses that stirred.

Instead, the blasted fellows had vanished to the opposite battlements, doubtless believing they were tactfully giving him privacy for his dalliance.

When Sibylla looked up at him with a tremulous half smile on her lips, his hands itched to touch her and his mouth burned to capture hers. Other parts of him came to life, too, until it was all he could do to ignore the ancient urges wrestling again with his good sense.

He’d been living like a monk since his return to Elishaw, and until Sibylla, no temptation had arisen to alter that state. If it had, he’d had his mother’s presence to consider and the swiftness with which news spread throughout the Borders. Lady Murray’s determination that he marry one of her English cousins had made it nearly certain that she would hear if he cast a look in any other fair lady’s direction.

But then had come the night at the pond and the walk at Akermoor.

“You
were
angry with me, though,” Sibylla said abruptly.

His thoughts still at Akermoor, it took him a beat to realize she meant earlier that evening. He grimaced then but felt no need to equivocate. Despite their brief time together, he found her easier to talk with than anyone else he could call to mind.

“I was furious,” he said. “I’m no good at describing my feelings, or justifying them, come to that. I have learned to control my temper, usually. But when it does flare, it can do so with such heat that it burns anyone within range . . .” He watched to see if she understood, and when she nodded, he felt a glow of satisfaction.

“An apt description, sir. Shall I tell you how
I
have imagined your temper?”

“Do I want to hear it?”

The moon overhead revealed a twinkle in her eyes as she said, “The way you keep things inside until you spew them out reminded me of a kettle left to boil over the fire until its lid sticks to the rim. Do you know what happens then?”

“The same thing that can happen if I simmer too long without release, aye. What led you to evoke this so-flattering image of me?”

She looked out toward the sea again. “On our journey here, I thought about my first impression of you on the day that was to have been our wedding day.”

Bewildered, remembering feeling nothing at first but irritation at her childish prattle, he said, “As a result of
that
memory, you likened me to a spewing pot?”

“Not at first,” she said, regarding him more warily. “At first, I saw only a cold, self-absorbed man with no interest in me, wanting to get on with his wedding. I found the prospect of living the rest of my life with him so daunting that I fled.”

“Even so, a cold man and a boiling pot do not . . .” She shook her head. “My thinking was not so particular. I was considering your temperament—how I’d first judged it and what I’d seen since. Especially when—” She caught her lower lip between her teeth.

“Never mind.” She was irresistible, looking at him so, and he could easily suppose he had given her good cause at Elishaw to liken him so.

Noting that the guards seemed content where they were and that he and she stood in the shadow of a crenel, he pulled her nearer and lowered his mouth to hers.

With a low moan, she leaned toward him, opening her mouth to him.

Shutting his eyes, he called himself a fool for plunging into something that could lead only to turmoil of one sort or another but savored her taste nonetheless.

Without warning, Sibylla pushed against his chest and tilted her head back with a frown. “You have behaved differently since . . . since this afternoon,” she said.

“I don’t want to talk more now, and certainly not about me,” he said. But when he moved to kiss her again, she slipped from his grasp.

“Moreover,” she said, “you
were
angry with me. I saw it in the way you looked at me, as if it were
my
fault that Edward had cornered Rosalie. And, earlier, you refused even to talk to me about your meeting with Fife.”

“Sibylla, I explained those things. It would have been unwise—”

“Just tell me this, sir,” she said. “When you met with the Governor this afternoon, did he press you to renew your suit with me?”

Stunned by the question, he hesitated. But he could not lie to her.

“Faith, I can see that he did!” Tugging him out under the moonlight, she said fiercely, “Look at me! Now, sir, I challenge you to deny Fife’s urging if you can.”

He was not accustomed to any woman commanding him, let alone challenging him in such a tone, and would accept it from few men. But he steeled himself to hold his temper as he said, “By my troth, lass, it is
not
as you think.”

“Do not equivocate, Simon Murray. I asked a simple question that requires a simple answer. Did Fife urge you to seek marriage with me again or not?”

“He did, aye, but—”

“I
knew
it! Will you tell me you refused him?” Her words dripped with scorn, and when he did not answer immediately, she said, “Well, did you?”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” he warned her. “I know you are angry, but whatever Fife may have said, I swear it has nowt to do with this. You must—”

“Do not tell me what I must,” she said in a voice as cold as any he could produce. “You said yourself that you are still obedient to his will, but I will
not
become another pawn on Fife’s board, sir, or yours. I bid you good
night
!”

Chapter 14

S
imon caught Sibylla’s arm and held her firmly when she tried to jerk free.

Determined not to let her make a greater sight of herself, he said with what he hoped was his usual calm, “You may go when I know you won’t storm off in full view of those men yonder. Here in the open, the moon is as bright as day and you do not want to stir talk of unseemly behavior. I’d prefer to escort you. But if you cannot agree to that, pray have the good sense to walk with your usual dignity.”

She scowled at him, then looked at his hand on her arm.

Hoping she understood that he would brook no defiance, he released her.

As she turned away, he saw the effort it took to cloak her anger. He matched his stride to hers, relieved when she made no effort to elude him. At the doorway, she paused to let him pull it open but then moved to go ahead of him.

“I’ll go first, my lady, as I should,” he said quietly.

He saw her grimace but knew it for a sign of annoyance with herself rather than with him. After living so long in a female household, doubtless she had got out of the habit of always waiting for a male companion to go ahead to clear a path for her across a crowded room or shield her from a fall down a spiral stairway.

He hoped she was pondering what little she’d let him say about Fife’s remarks and would realize she had misunderstood. She was a sensible woman. If he let her think now, perhaps he could smooth things between them before she retired.

That hope vanished when they reached the princess’s chambers to find the door open and merry feminine chatter sounding from within.

“Sibylla! There you are!” Rosalie exclaimed, appearing in the doorway with a grin and reaching for Sibylla’s hand. “Only see who has come!”

Simon’s first thought was that the princess Isabel had arrived. However, he quickly recognized voices and realized his error.

Glancing at Sibylla, he knew she had heard them, too, because she smiled and hurried inside, exclaiming, “Amalie! Meg! How wonderful to see you! When did you arrive, and why did you not send to inform us you were coming?”

Stepping to the doorway, he saw the two elder of his three sisters greeting Sibylla with hugs. Amalie, rosy and round with child, seemed especially delighted.

“We just learned you were here,” she said. To Simon, she added, “Did you not know that Westruther and Buccleuch were coming to meet with the Douglas?”

“Nay, although I did see Douglas tonight, and talked with him. I came to Edinburgh because of a summons from the Governor.”

“Aye, well, they are downstairs in the hall, and they said we should send you to them if we found you. We’ve already sent Sibylla’s father away, and we mean to talk until our husbands send for us to return to the Canon-gate.”

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

Meg said with her wide smile, “Buccleuch has a house there. His brother usually lives in it, but he is away, so we’re all staying there. You must visit us.”

“I will,” he promised.

He bowed, responded when Sibylla thanked him civilly for seeing her safely back, and then left them to their reunion.

Sibylla was pleased to see Amalie and Meg and wanted to hear all their news. Despite her pleasure, though, a nagging voice in her mind kept diverting her thoughts to the scene on the ramparts with Simon.

Until he’d spoiled things by admitting that Fife did expect him to renew his suit, she had let her emotions rule her behavior.

Now she could see how foolish she had been.

She forced her attention back to her guests, but the nagging voice continued sporadically until Amalie said, “But Rosalie, the lady Catherine Gordon is not a woman grown. She is not even as old as you are.”

Sibylla stared at her. “What are you saying, Amalie? Catherine Gordon is to marry Thomas Colville. Surely, she must be at least Rosalie’s age.”

“But she is not,” Meg said. “Wat said only today that the lady Catherine is just seven, a year older than Strathearn’s daughter was when Fife arranged
her
marriage.”

Stunned but recalling her discussion with Simon on the same subject, Sibylla said, “But Margaret of Strathearn is Fife’s niece and her estates Stewart lands! Surely with an unrelated, Gordon heiress, he has to behave differently.”

Amalie said dryly, “Apparently not, as he’s giving her to Thomas Colville, who is one of his most loyal followers. Just as Simon is,” she added with a sigh.

When Meg nodded in agreement, Sibylla felt impelled to defend Simon.

“He supports Fife less eagerly now, I think,” she said. “He has been . . .” She paused, unable to say he’d been kind to her, for he had not, but seeking some way to explain that he had changed from the man Amalie had known.

Amalie chuckled. “Rosalie and our lady mother did tell us he rescued you and some child from the Tweed, Sibylla. Doubtless, he felt obliged to treat you civilly for a time. But I could tell at once that you were seething before you smiled and hurried in to greet us. Clearly, Simon had infuriated you.”