Pride of the Clan (22 page)

A lump rose in her throat. “I’m worried for him.”

TELLING THE TALE

Rheade held Margaret’s hand tightly. In his other hand he gripped the parchment Graham had signed. She’d wanted to see it, but he’d persuaded her against it. He feared the blood smears might turn her belly.

Margaret had been obliged to live in a tiny space yet she smelled sweet. Her
léine
was spotless and she wore Rheade’s brooch proudly on her plaid. Her hair shone like moonbeams.

Her other arm was linked with Glenna’s. His sister-by-marriage had benefitted from a day of rest, but still looked a distraught wreck. He wished she’d bathed, but at least Hannah had combed her hair.

Logan stood with his friends, all uncharacteristically silent.

The double doors to the Queen’s anteroom creaked open. Erskine stepped into the hallway and closed the doors behind him. “Ready?” he asked.

Margaret squeezed Rheade’s hand.

“Ready,” he replied.

Erskine laid his hand on the doorknob, but a commotion further down the hallway drew everyone’s attention to where three guards struggled to subdue a peasant.

“Joss,” Margaret exclaimed, clasping her hands to her breast.

“My lord Earl,” Rheade pleaded, “this is the man we’ve been seeking. Please allow him to pass.”

“Leave him be,” Erskine shouted.

One of the guards held up a long object bundled in cloth. “But, my lord, he is armed with a sword.”

Excitement bubbled in Rheade’s veins. “’Tis Robert Stewart’s sword,” he explained.

“Let him go,” Erskine repeated. “Fetch me the weapon.”

Margaret ran to embrace Joss. “Where have ye been?” she admonished. “I’ve been worried.”

He reddened considerably when she kissed his cheek. “Long walk,” he rasped.

Rheade gaped in disbelief. “You walked from Blair?”

Joss nodded.
 

Erskine unwrapped the sword, examined it briefly, then folded the cloth over it again. He handed it to Rheade. “Now we’re ready. Remember, this isna a trial.”

He opened the doors and ushered them in.
 

Joss balked.

Margaret took his hand. “Please, Joss. ’Twill be all right. We must tell the Queen what happened at Blair Castle and assure her I had nothing to do with Robert Stewart’s plans. I need your testimony.”

Still he shook his head.

Margaret stood on tiptoe and whispered in his ear. A grin split his beefy face, then he nodded.

Queen Joan glared first at the ox of a man being led in by Margaret like a timid child, then at Glenna. She arched a brow upon catching sight of Logan’s friends.

Rheade was again surprised to see Garth in attendance, seated on a dais slightly below the Queen’s. Mayhap his presence was a good omen. He could vouch for Rheade’s role at Loch Bhac and he obviously had the Queen’s ear.

Glenna came close to toppling over as she curtseyed, only saved from disaster by Margaret reaching out to steady her as she too sank into a full curtsey.

Joss fell to his knees and touched his head to the tiles. The other men bent the knee and bowed. Rheade held on tightly to the bundle he hoped would elicit a favorable response from Joan.

The Queen made a deprecating sound as she eyed them. “A motley group,” she declared. “Sir Rheade, rise and explain to me whom you have brought.”

Rheade rose and gestured to Margaret. “May I present my—”

The Queen waved an impatient hand. “Those I don’t know.”

Not a good beginning.

His heart pounding too rapidly, he sidestepped to stand behind Glenna. “May I present Glenna Lockie McIntyre Robertson, wife of our chieftain, Tannoch—”

“
You’re
the Mistress of Dunalastair?” the Queen exclaimed.

Glenna raised her head. Rheade prayed she didn’t answer the Queen back with the annoyance written on her scowling face.
 

“I am, Yer Majesty,” she murmured.

Rheade breathed again.

Joan raised a brow. “I see why you need a wife,” she said sarcastically to Rheade. “And who are these fine young knights with Sir Logan?”

Logan stood and presented his comrades.

Joan smiled for the first time. “Welcome.”

The grovelling Joss was evidently to be ignored, which was probably for the best.

“And I understand from Erskine you are all owed a debt of gratitude for the capture of the Stewarts.”

Rheade was surprised Erskine, or mayhap Garth had told the Queen the tale, but Glenna raised her head and declared, “Nay. Tannoch captured them.”

“Nay. ’Twas Rheadedonnachaidhstarkeyrobertsonladymargaretlogankeeganalasdairfergus.”

~~~

Margaret groaned inwardly. Not only had Joss spoken out loud, he’d scrambled to his feet, his agitation plain.

She took a chance, rose hastily from her curtsey and went to his side. She linked arms with him. “Forgive Joss, Your Majesty, he’s a simple man with a good heart. He has served my family since before I was born.”

Joss thrust out his broad chest, beaming a big smile at Queen Joan.

“What in the name of all that’s holy was he trying to say?” the Queen asked.

Margaret was relieved she seemed amused rather than outraged. “He said Rheade and Logan and these three brave men you see before you captured the Stewarts.”

“He was there?”

“Stables,” Joss insisted, stabbing his finger into his chest. “Blair.”

“We didna ken Joss was there,” Margaret explained. “He and his twin brother had set off back to Oban.”

“There are two like him?” the Queen asked, her eyes wide.

“Nay, his brother Shaon is—”

She hesitated, unsure what to say without insulting her faithful servant.

“Clever,” Joss declared.

The corners of the Queen’s mouth edged up. “But he came back?” she asked.

“Lady Margaret,” Joss said, as if that explained everything.

The Queen cast an amused glance at Garth. “Sir Rheade, you’d best tell me the tale.”

Rheade lay the bundle at his feet, then recounted their flight to Blair. Margaret was relieved he left out the part about them snuggling in bed.

He explained Margaret had caught sight of the Stewarts coming down from the mountains.

He told of the decision to bring the horses into the entry hall, and the surprise attack on the advance party.

Margaret clung to Joss, sensing his excitement as the tale progressed. The Queen’s eyes darted from one to another as each warrior who’d taken part was named.

“Meanwhile from the turret room Margaret saw the Earl and his grandson attempting to get away. She broke the window to get their attention, to delay them.”

Joss chuckled, slapping his thigh. “Threw piss-pot.”

Whistling, he drew a slow arc in the air with his finger. Then as his imaginary missile hit the ground he thrust out his hands as if describing a volcanic eruption. “Ppprrrkk!”

Silence reigned. The Queen put her fingertips to her mouth, her shoulders shaking. Garth chewed on his knuckles. Even Erskine cracked a bemused smile.

Joss took a deep breath. Margaret toyed with the idea of stopping him but it was somewhat late for that.

“Lady Margaret. Window.” He cupped his big hands to his mouth and at the top of his lungs in the falsetto voice of a woman yelled, “Traitor, Traitor.”

Rheade stared at Joss for long minutes, evidently as surprised as she was that he’d seen and heard everything. Then he carried on. “Aye. Well. Having subdued the first group in the hall, we charged out—”

“‘Osses,” Joss exclaimed, laughing out loud. “‘Osses in a castle.” Then he looked to Rheade, evidently giving permission for the tale to continue.

Rheade cleared his throat. “The Earl fell from his horse, injuring his arm. He surrendered.”

Joss pointed at Rheade, stuck out one beefy leg and declared. “Kicked.”

“You kicked the Earl off his horse?” the Queen asked.

Margaret marveled the monarch had readily understood Joss’s limited speech.

“Aye,” Rheade replied. “Then I rode after Robert who had taken advantage of his grandfather’s capture to attempt an escape.”

Joss cupped his hands to his mouth. The Queen wisely covered her ears. “Coward,” he shrieked, again imitating a woman’s voice.

“Indeed,” the Queen declared. “Cowards all, to slay an unarmed king.”

“Aye,” Joss whispered.

The Queen rose. “And you have brought me Stewart’s sword.”

Rheade picked up the bundle, drew off the cloth with a flourish and strode forward, holding the weapon in both hands like an offering to the Almighty. He bent the knee before Queen Joan. “Tis for ye to decide what to do with it, Yer Majesty,” he said.

Queen Joan stared at the blade. Eyes fixed on her husband’s broad back, Margaret recalled her terror as she’d watched Robert and Rheade wrestle in the dirt, her past and her future. She understood the Queen’s pain. If Margaret was presented with a weapon that had slain her husband she’d hurl it into the fires of hell.

Beside her Joss sniffled.

Rheade must have sensed the Queen’s anguish. “May I suggest my Lord Erskine take the weapon until ye can decide what to do with it.”

The Queen straightened her spine. “I am grateful to you, and I am convinced Lady Margaret Robertson is innocent of any complicity in the plot. Anyone who can inspire such loyalty in a servant, and receive messages from dead men—”

Margaret’s knees trembled. Her husband’s shoulders relaxed.

Erskine came forward and accepted the sword from Rheade who stepped back and grasped Margaret’s hand. The Queen had given her blessing. The future with Rheade was secured.

But she worried for her sister-by-marriage, still kneeling.

As if sensing her concern, the Queen bade Glenna rise. It was evident when the Mistress of Dunalastair raised her head that she’d been weeping.

“Go to your husband, Lady Glenna,” Joan said. “We cannot overlook his selfless role in the capture of Graham, and his steadfast loyalty to our person and to my late husband. I wish you both well.”

She left the dais on Garth’s arm. It seemed to Margaret the audience had helped the monarch exorcise some of the demons plaguing her. She didn’t envy the hard years ahead. Even in her remote cupboard word had permeated of powerful nobles disgruntled at a woman acting as Regent.

Glenna swayed as if in a trance and leaned heavily on Rheade as they exited the antechamber.

WAITING

As he and Margaret walked hand in hand to the Infirmary, Rheade was torn by conflicting emotions. After the audience with the Queen he wanted nothing more than to whisk his wife off to his chamber and seal their union, but he still had Graham’s cursed oath tucked in his plaid. Joan hadn’t mentioned it.
 

Stirling Castle was packed to the rafters with folk who’d come from every corner of the Highlands to witness the execution. Many of them lingered. Rheade had been obliged to share his chamber not only with Logan but with his friends.

It wasn’t a place a bridegroom might dawdle abed with his tempting bride, and the bed in Margaret’s cupboard was hardly big enough for her. When he made love to his wife for the first time he wanted it to be perfect. His thoughts wandered to the chamber he’d occupied at Dunalastair since he was a lad. Big bed, comfortable mattress, heavy drapery that turned it into a cozy cocoon. Aye, a man could satisfy all kinds of—

“What are ye daydreaming about?” Margaret suddenly whispered.

He bent his head to kiss the top of her silvery hair. “I’ll wager ye ken,” he replied, aware his face had reddened.

She too blushed. “I do,” she murmured, squeezing his hand.

Truth be told, Dunalastair was where he wanted to consummate his marriage to Margaret. It was home. The place he belonged. Stirling was too full of bitter memories.
 

But would she understand his desire to wait? It would be at least a sennight before Tannoch would be allowed to travel home. He chuckled inwardly, wondering if his shaft was sufficiently patient. He’d hardened pleasantly at first thought of making love in his own bed. It came to him he’d never taken a woman there before. His wild oats had been sewn further afield, in many a cozy hayloft. Once even in a—

A chill ran up his spine. He raked a hand through his hair. Thank God he’d never spilled inside a woman. He was confident he’d sired no bastards, though the same couldn’t be said of his laird. Indeed, his brother often taunted Glenna with insinuations that the blame for their failure to conceive lay at her door, usually when he’d two or three scruffy red-headed urchins in his lap. He’d never openly acknowledged them, but it was plain to see—

The poignant memory was bittersweet. Those bairns knew how to bring out Tannoch’s rare smile.

He marshalled his thoughts back to more pressing matters. Tannoch might not welcome the news of Margaret’s acquittal, but it was incumbent upon them to inform their chieftain. And he had to be told Queen Joan had learned of his deception regarding the Stewarts.
 

Underlying everything was the question of Tannoch’s parentage, but Rheade admitted inwardly it no longer concerned him. Logan’s reminder they were sons of the same mother had made him reconsider. Tannoch might not be the best chieftain in the Highlands, but he was who he was. Their father had named him his successor.

Then there was Glenna. A one armed chieftain would need a strong wife, yet Tannoch had sapped Glenna’s spirit. If Rheade were laird, he’d have a fine Mistress of Dunalastair in Margaret, but he would never challenge his brother for the position. They would do everything in their power to aid in the growth and prosperity of the castle and clan.

~~~

Strangely, Margaret was relieved Rheade had insisted on heading for the Infirmary after the audience. She sensed her husband had lovemaking on his mind. His already warm palm had become sweaty and he’d slowed his gait. A rare blush reddened his face, and he seemed preoccupied.
 

She burned with a desire to lie with him, to press her naked body to his, yet a peculiar dread lay in the pit of her belly that he might whisk her off to the cupboard. Losing her maidenhead in the wretched place held no appeal.