The Queen's Lady (12 page)

“I'll rally the men. We will find her, I swear it,” Tristan assured him.

“I will ride, as well,” Rowan said grimly, then paused, inhaling deeply. “Inform the Reverend Keogh that the women may prepare my lady's body, and that we will set a vigil in the hall, so the people may attend to their prayers before her burial.”

He turned and strode away to prepare.

He did not have to ride, he knew; his men were capable and could go in search of Gwenyth without his help. But he could not sit still. There were dangers in the darkness, but the little fool was far too self-assured to realize it. He wanted to throttle her. She was his responsibility.

As Catherine's death approached, he had written to the queen, to tell Mary that their travels would take longer, and she had replied to say that she understood the necessity of attending at the deathbed of a loved one. It was his duty, she had said.

Aye, his wife was dead, and it was his duty to pray by her bedside. No one would expect him to shirk that duty for another, and lesser, this night. He did not have to ride.

Then he thought of Gwenyth, alone in the darkness of the Highlands and knew that aye, he did.

 

“H
ELLO
?” G
WENYTH WHISPERED
aloud, alarmed to hear a quaver in her voice. “Hello?”

It was then that a man leaped from the brush at her side, catching hold of the mare's bridle. The mare shied violently, but the fellow kept his hold.

“Why, 'tis none but a girl, entering the woods alone,” he announced in the Gaelic of the Highlands.

Two other men stepped forward to flank her.

“I'm sorry to disturb your evening,” Gwenyth said. “I'm Lady MacLeod of Islington. You are probably acquainted with my uncle. I'm traveling under the protection of Laird Rowan Graham, and am a guest at Castle Grey, where there has been a tragic loss. Perhaps you would be so good as to direct me to the proper path, that I might return before the night grows any later?”

“Lady MacLeod?” one of them said, stepping forward. Someone suddenly lit a torch, momentarily blinding her with its sudden light.

She knew she was being studied, and it made her uncomfortable. She hadn't liked the tone taken by the man who had spoken.

“Laird Rowan Graham will be looking for me,” she said sharply.

“Really?” The question came from the same man.

She blinked against the light, trying to make him out. He was tall—and very hairy. His beard fell to his chest. He was about fifty, a massive, well-muscled man. There was a younger fellow at his side, also bearded, and so like him that she knew he had to be kin, probably a son. The third man was lighter than the other two, blond where they were dark. She noted quickly that his tartan was of a better quality and that he wore fine shoes, while the other two were clad in boots that showed signs of heavy wear.

It was the young blond man, clean shaven and more slender, who spoke up then. “Lady MacLeod?” he murmured.

“'Tis a gift,” the older man said.

“Will you please help me find my way?” she asked nervously.

“A MacLeod!” the younger, bearded man said.

They all seemed amused, their eyes calculating.

“I am one of the queen's ladies,” she said sharply.

“Aye, well, 'tis true the queen has returned,” the blond man said.

“Aye, a Catholic,” the older man said, and spat.

“And kind,” Gwenyth said quickly. “She wishes all her people to worship as they choose.”

“Come down, m'lady,” the older man said gallantly. “I am Fergus MacIvey. Perhaps ye've heard of me.”

She had not.

It didn't matter; he wasn't waiting for her reply. Without her permission, he reached for her, lifting her from the mare. She didn't protest; he was the size of an ox, and she already knew that she was in trouble here, though she wasn't at all sure why. She was a MacLeod, and that seemed to be a problem. Had there been some dispute between the MacLeods and these men?

Her heart sank. She knew she had to keep her wits about her.

“The queen is indeed a just and kind lady,” she said, landing on her feet. “But she is advised by her brother, James Stewart, who can be a hard and punitive man, it is true.”

The three exchanged skeptical glances.

“M'Lady,” the blond man said, bowing slightly, “I'm Bryce MacIvey, thane of the clan. Perhaps ye've heard of
me.
”

She had not heard of him, either, so she simply remained silent.

“This is my kinsman, Fergus's son, Michael,” Bryce MacIvey said. “Ye're upon MacIvey lands, y'see.”

“M'lord, good men,” she said, forcing a smile in acknowledgment, “I'm sorry to be trespassing, and sorry to have disturbed you. If you would just be so good as to direct me back toward Castle Grey…”

“We'd not have ye goin' off with no sustenance to see ye on y'er way, nor would we send ye off into the dark without escort,” Bryce said.

“As it seemed Laird Graham allowed,” Fergus noted.

“I'm a very competent horsewoman,” she said.

“Mayhap, but ye should not be out in the dark alone,” Bryce chided her.

She did not like the speculative way he watched her and knew she had to speak very carefully. “Laird Rowan's wife died today,” she said softly. “He is in mourning…and his temper is both weary and foul.”

Her words caused another exchange of glances.

“Come, we'll get ye some ale to slake y'er thirst, meat to settle y'er hunger,” Fergus said.

She had no choice; Fergus had her mare's reins, and Bryce had her by the arm, so she allowed them to lead her over to the fire that burned in the night.

She was given a seat upon a rolled tartan before the flames and offered ale in a horn that was surely a relic of someone's Viking ancestor. She accepted the drink politely, realizing that she was, indeed, thirsty, though water would have sufficed much better. The ale was strong and bitter, and she had to force herself not to cough and sputter.

Fergus handed her a small piece of meat; he did not tell her what it was, and she thought she might well be dining on squirrel. She merely thanked him and began to chew. She had been mistaken; the meat was some kind of fowl, and not at all bad.

But once she was politely seated and fed, the three stepped away, and she knew they were discussing her, though they claimed they were trying to determine the best way back to Castle Grey.

By listening carefully, she could hear enough of what they said to send chills racing along her spine.

“…a MacLeod…” That from Bryce.

“…rich dowry…” Fergus.

“…revenge upon old Angus!” Michael said triumphantly.

“What of the queen's wrath?” Bryce asked.

“Laird Rowan…the more deadly,” Michael advised.

Pretending to get more comfortable, she slid closer to where they were speaking, the better to hear their conversation.

Fergus began to speak in a heated whisper. “Aye, and what will they do, Bryce, if ye take the lady now, eh? Why not wait for a marriage come the mornin'? That can be no hardship, surely? She be a pretty creature, indeed. She has an alluring beauty.”

“What of Laird Rowan?” Michael asked.

“The fool has let her loose. He is deep in mourning and will not even notice her absence until it is too late,” Bryce pointed out logically. “And I do not care to wait for morning.”

“Possession is indeed the greater part of the law,” Fergus admitted.

Gwenyth kept her seat as she listened, pretending she didn't hear them. Panic had made ice of her blood and frozen her limbs, but she knew she dared not let on, not if she wished to have any chance of escaping this band. She was incredulous that they would dare to suggest violence against her in any way, and yet she knew she should not have been. She knew how apt the clans were to battle one another, and how eager to take justice into their own hands.

Clearly, her uncle had done something to make these men enemies to the MacLeods, and equally clearly, they meant for her to pay the price.

And her service to the queen was no protection, because Mary had just returned. She was a foreigner in their minds, and not in control of her country yet. They no doubt knew that if she moved against them, she might incite a revolt among all those who feared her religion and her ties with France.

Bryce MacIvey came strolling to her side, excitement in his eyes now, as well as speculation. She knew her fate had been decided. Tonight she would be the victim of rape, and come the morning, a forced marriage. It would be easy enough for them to find the proper minister. Once the deed was done, she would be trapped, the scorned wife of a laird who had done nothing but use her in revenge and for his own monetary gain. Her lands were far from the richest in Scotland, but they provided revenue just the same.

She had been a fool, such a fool. She could scream forever, and no one would hear her. She didn't even know where she was, other than on MacIvey lands. True, they would face the wrath of Laird Rowan and the queen, but still, once the deed was done, the vows spoken, what could anyone do? She would be tainted goods, and that would be the end of it.

And there was no one here to help her; there was not a chance of rescue. Therefore, she would have to rescue herself.

“Ah, m'lady, how is the pheasant?” Bryce inquired politely.

“A sweet morsel, quite delicious,” she said. “I admit to a terrible hunger and thirst. The ale is fine, as well. I thank you sincerely for seeing to my needs.”

“Naturally we, being men of honor, could do no less,” Bryce said.

“We think it best to wait for the morning and escort ye home,” Fergus said gravely.

“The dark is no time to be ridin',” Michael advised.

“Oh?” she said.

“The land hereabouts is rugged and fierce,” Fergus told her. He seemed to be the leader here, though it was his blond kinsman who held the title. He was older, and the most powerful in build.

It was Bryce, however, who would lead her off into the woods. Bryce she needed to somehow best.

She must play innocent, must keep them all off guard. She must allow him to lure her deep into the woods, for getting him alone was her only chance of escape.

Bryce looked at her then and said politely, “The news you bring us is most tragic, that Lady Catherine has left this world at last.”

She bowed her head.

“And ye are here with Laird Rowan,” he said. There was speculation in his words.

“Aye. At the queen's command, I travel with the man.”

There was silence. Were they wondering if the queen had decided that she would make the proper second wife for a man such as Laird Rowan? She found the very idea despicable when his loss was yet so new, but if it would help save her freedom for these men to believe such a thing she was more than willing to support the lie.

“Laird Rowan needs no more power,” Fergus muttered, staring at Bryce.

Her heart sank. Perhaps the lie wouldn't help her after all.

What now?

The time had come for a decision. Bryce approached her, extending his hand. “Come, m'lady, and I'll show ye a bit of the sweet forest here. We'll find a place where ye can rest for the night, a place where ye'll be safe as we guard ye through the darkness.”

“Thank you,” she said, accepting his hand with what she prayed was an expression of innocence and gratitude, and stood, taking her time, dusting off her skirts. She weighed the pressure of Bryce's grip. He was more slender than the others, but hardly without power. Her one hope was to trick him, giving her a chance to inflict a blow that would render him immobile.

He led her some distance away, which told her that he knew these trails well.

“What about the beasts in the forest?” she whispered, clinging to his arm.

“Ah, ye needn't fear. 'Tis mainly deer here, though we occasionally see a few boar, but they disturb none that do not come after them.”

He stopped, and she worried, because they were still too close to the other men.

She let go of him, striding almost blindly along the path, wishing her eyes would accustom themselves to the darkness.

“M'lady, where are ye going?” Bryce demanded, his tone developing a slight edge.

“Just further into the woods,” she said.

“But I know these woods and where it is safest to sleep.”

“I am a member of the royal court,” she said. “I must have my privacy, Laird MacIvey.”

“Ye need go no deeper.”

“But I must.” She didn't dare run, but she quickened her pace.

He fell in behind her, so she hurried all the more. And at last, when she was a good distance from the fire, she began to run.