Silver Flame

Chapter 10

“A h—freedom.” Sine held her arms out wide and grinned up at the sky. “Its taste is as heady as the finest wine.”

She grasped the reins of her mount and nudged the sleek mare to a swifter pace, then laughed. All six men riding with her quickly brought their mounts in line with hers. Their protectiveness was both amusing and mildly irritating. She was free of the safe but confining walls of Duncoille, but not free of her self-appointed guardians.

It had taken her three full days to convince Gamel that she would go mad if he did not allow her outside the walls of Duncoille. Gamel had agreed, very reluctantly, to take her to a market day at a small village called Kilbeg just north of his family’s lands. Farthing had joined them, partly to help protect her and partly to annoy Gamel. Sir Lesley, Ligulf, Nigel, and Norman rode along as well, swords at the ready to fend off any trouble. It was an impressive entourage.

Sine felt a little bit guilty but was willing to endure that for the pleasure of being, more or less, free for a few hours. She did wonder, however, how long it would take Gamel to realize that her claims of needing more materials for her needlework were false. Not only were there ample supplies at Duncoille, but she was a verra poor needlewoman. She did it as seldom as possible, her skills restricting her to mending. After taking a deep breath of the clean, crisp forest air, she decided it was worth the deceit and whatever penalty she might have to pay in return. She glanced at Gamel, who rode on her right, saw his deep frown, and wondered if he had already guessed her ruse.

“Is something wrong?” she asked Gamel.

“Besides the fact that we are presenting ourselves as an easy target for attack?”

“Aye—besides that.” When Gamel gave her a mildly disgusted look, Sine smiled sweetly.

“Ye keep speaking of freedom as if we have kept ye locked and chained in some dark, damp cell for months.” Gamel inwardly cursed, afraid that he sounded foolish, yet unable to completely subdue a sense of hurt and insult over her delight in being away from Duncoille.

A light flush of embarrassment, mixed with a hint of shame, rushed into Sine’s face. She had been thoughtless. Not once had she considered how her remarks might sound to others. Gamel was rightfully proud of Duncoille and her calling it a prison had to pinch at that pride.

“There is naught wrong with Duncoille, Gamel,” she said quietly. “’Tis a keep few can equal. I find it both comfortable and pleasing. ’Tisnae Duncoille I rage against but the ones who hold me besieged within its walls. I dinnae resent the walls, only that the Brodies force me to cower behind them. I am sorry for the insult. I ne’er intended to deliver ye one. I was thoughtless.”

“Nay.” Gamel grimaced faintly. “I was too quick to find offense.” He smiled at her. “I do understand what ye feel. A few years ago I was fighting in France and was caught within a castle besieged by the English. I owed my life to the fact that the castle was strong, easily defended, and weel supplied. It was a rich, fine place that any king would envy. Howbeit, when the siege ended and the gates were finally opened, I was one of the first to flee the place e’en though we had won the battle.”

“Aye, he wouldnae e’en allow us to savor the celebration of our victory,” drawled Sir Lesley.

That remark prompted a round of companionable bickering between Gamel and Sir Lesley. Sine relaxed and concentrated on simply enjoying a beautiful day and the sense of peaceful happiness it brought. When the small village came into view, with a crowd of people milling amongst its thatch-roofed cottages, Sine felt as excited as if she were riding into Edinburgh. She wryly decided that she was not suited to a cloistered life if, after a short and necessary confinement, she could be so pleased by a tiny village’s market day. The narrow streets were littered with every sort of farm animal. Men dragged reluctant goats along. Chickens darted amongst the horses. A grizzled shepherd barely cast a glance their way as he idly herded about a dozen sheep down the rutted street to their right.

They left their mounts with the blacksmith and Sine eagerly began to look over every item offered for sale or barter. She noticed that it was not long before the men began to lose interest in watching over her. Although they did not completely cease keeping an eye on her, they began to respond more fulsomely to the smiles of the young maids. Glancing up from a particularly lovely gourd bowl, she glimpsed Farthing slipping away with a buxom lass. Soon only Gamel would remain at her side and she wondered how long he could endure it as she examined some cloth and yarns. It was not a chore a proud knight could stomach for long, especially when there was no hint of an enemy amongst the hardworking common folk crowding the market square.

“I think ye would be much happier if ye went and had an ale with your brothers,” Sine finally suggested to Gamel after nearly an hour of idle shopping. “Ye begin to look more like a martyr than a guard.”

“I shouldnae leave ye alone,” he murmured, casting a covetous look toward his brothers, who stood near the alewife’s table drinking deeply of her brew and laughing heartily.

“Gamel, ye have studied everyone here and found naught which worries you. Go. I shall cry out if there is any danger. E’en if an enemy of mine is here and I doubt it, he, or she, wouldnae do verra much. This village teems with witnesses and the Brodies dinnae like witnesses.”

“Nay, that is true enough. Stay with the crowd, dinnae go off anywhere alone. I shall be right o’er there at the alewife’s table.” He kissed her cheek and walked away.

For one brief moment after Gamel left her side, Sine felt panic stir within her. She began to look suspiciously at everyone, wondering if she saw the glint of a knife in a certain man’s hand or a sly, traitorous look in a woman’s eyes. It took an exerted effort to rally her strength and calm herself. Sine forced her attention back to the cloth she was fingering and firmly told herself that Arabel and Malise would never linger in such a poor, tiny village.

“Cousin Thomas,” Margot cried as she raced into the great hall, straight toward the head table where Thomas and William were sitting.

Lord Magnusson looked up from the map of Dorchabeinn he and William had been diligently drawing and gaped slightly. “Margot, my child, where have your manners fled?”

Margot performed a hasty curtsy. “I humbly beg your pardon, m’lords, but I felt that haste was needed. I have received a message from Martin.”

“Another? So soon? Weel, let us read it then if ye feel it is so verra important.”

“Nay, ’twasnae a written message. Martin sent a wee lad to tell me to come and meet him.”

“When and where?” asked Lord William.

“Within the hour in the wood about a mile north of here,” replied Margot.

“The Brodies are already traveling from Stirling to Dorchabeinn?”

“Aye, but I fear ’tis far worse than that. The Brodies have halted not far from here in the small village of Kilbeg—the verra one Sir Gamel and Lady Sine have traveled to.”

Sir William cursed. “Weel, the lass has six guards with her and all of them are weel skilled in the use of their swords.”

“There is nothing we can do?” asked Margot. “They could come face-to-face with the Brodies.”

“They could,” agreed Sir William. “I will send someone to the village to warn them. ’Tis the best I can do. I truly believe that the secrecy we have enjoyed up until now is over. We had best begin to change our plans accordingly.”

“What am I to do about Martin? Should I refuse to meet him?”

Lord Thomas shook his head. “Nay, lass. Ye will meet him. Two of my men will go with ye.”

“Do ye think Martin means to harm me?”

“Nay, but ye should ne’er tryst with a mon alone and we already have some doubts about this particular mon. My men willnae intrude, but they will linger near enough to come to your aid if ye have need of them.”

“And should I continue to hold silent about Lady Sine and her brothers? This news, that their enemies are so close, has upset me. I am not sure I shall be able to hide that.”

“Dinnae try, lass. In truth, I would be surprised if Martin doesnae at least ask ye why the Logans are spying upon the Brodies. Even if he doesnae intend to use ye to betray us, his own curiosity must be aroused.”

“Aye,” agreed Lord William. “And Martin has proven himself to be a mon who labors hard to protect himself. Such a mon would be eager to ken why we try to gather so much information. So, tell him why we spy upon his masters—because we have allied ourselves with the children Lady Arabel tried to murder six years ago. Only that. No more. His response could prove verra interesting.”

“It seems a great deal to reveal to him,” Margot said, and frowned.

“Not now. In a village as small as Kilbeg, the Brodies are sure to espy Sine Catriona. There is no longer any need to be so secretive. And, I think ’tis time we gave our enemies a wee jab to see how they jump.”

A half hour later, as Margot stood in a copse a mile from Duncoille and watched Martin approach, she was not sure she wanted to be enlightened concerning Martin’s true character. Martin’s reaction to the news that Sine and the twins were still alive could put a painful end to what few hopes she had nurtured about her relationship with him. He could easily reveal that he equaled his masters in venality and then he would have to be cast aside, as dead to her as the lover she had lost to the plague. She gave Martin a weak, tremulous smile of welcome as he took her hand in his and kissed it. His dark eyes were soft with concern. She desperately wanted to trust him.

“I wasnae sure ye would come,” he said as he led her toward the lush grass beneath an aspen, sat, and lightly tugged her down beside him.

“I havenae come alone.”

He tensed a little but smiled crookedly. “Nay, ye wouldnae have been allowed to do that, especially not with all that now stands between the Logans and the Brodies.”

Margot stared off toward the trees where her cousin Thomas’s two burly men-at-arms lurked unseen. “What do ye mean, Martin? What could stand between them? They are barely more than acquaintances.”

Martin took her small chin in his thin hand, turned her face toward his, and smiled when she hesitated to meet his gaze. “Ye are a poor deceiver, lass. ’Tis your utter lack of that skill which draws me to ye e’en though it can bring naught but trouble. The Logans spy upon the Brodies. I ken it and so do ye. They gather a prodigious amount of information on my notorious masters. I but seek to ken the why of it. Howbeit, I will understand if ye cannae tell me. I would ne’er force a lass as sweet and innocent as ye are to taste the bitter draught of betrayal. Keep your secrets if ye must.”

“Nay, there is no more need to keep this particular secret. Your masters will have the answer themselves ere the day is done. They will surely discover it in the village they have stopped in.”

“What do ye mean?”

“Sine Catriona Brodie and her young half brothers are alive. As Lord Logan says—the Logans and the Magnussons have allied themselves with the children your masters sought to murder six years ago.”

She watched, nervously twisting her hands together in her lap, as Martin sought to understand what she had just told him. All the color seeped from his face as he gaped at her, his eyes wide with shock. A moment later, to her utter confusion, he began to laugh, the color swiftly returning to his thin face.

“Alive?” he asked, still laughing. “Wee Sine and the bastards are alive?”

“Aye. Ye find this funny? What could possibly be funny about it?”

“Naught. Weel, naught that ye could e’er understand.” He draped his arm about her shoulders and kissed her cheek, his mood a jovial one. “I could almost wish to be there when Arabel discovers it. After six years with no sight or word of the brats, she had begun to believe that her daughter and her husband’s sons were indeed dead.”

“Why would she wish them dead? Sine is her own flesh and blood.”

“Aye, and Arabel hated that child from the moment she was conceived. Arabel’s vanity is a madness. So is her greed. Not only did wee Sine have the impudence to mar Arabel’s form while she was still within her mother’s womb, but she also left a tiny blemish or two after she was born. Young Sine also looks just like Arabel. Arabel ages and sees each day that is added to her years as a curse. Every time she looked at Sine, Arabel could see how the child would grow to be more beautiful while her own beauty faded. I think Arabel began to believe that Sine was stealing that beauty from her, draining it away with each passing hour as a leech drains a mon’s blood. ’Twas as if Arabel thought that she could halt her own aging if she killed Sine.”

“That is madness,” Margot whispered, and shivered.

Martin nodded. “The greed is a wee bit more understandable. Sine and her brothers were left much wealth by their father. Arabel and Malise want to hold fast to it. Their greed is a never satisfied hunger. They always crave more.”

“Why do ye stay with them? ’Tis clear that ye can see all that is wrong in them, yet ye dinnae turn from it.”

“And where shall I turn to, lass? I am but a poor kinsmon of Malise’s. I have neither land nor coin. I was tied to Malise’s service at a verra young age. ’Tis all I ken of the world. I am so sunk in their filth now that, e’en if I walked away from them, I would always carry that stink with me. I will be with them until the end. And I believe that end will come soon now. Wee Sine will deliver the punishment Arabel and Malise have so far eluded.”

“Do ye really believe that?”

“Aye, I do. Mayhaps Arabel could see it years ago and it added to her need to end Sine’s life. Arabel saw not only her fading youth in her child’s face but her own dark fate, her own defeat, and it terrified her.”

“So, do ye now hie to the Brodies’ side?”

“Nay.” He cupped her face in his hands again. “I am here with ye and here I shall stay until the day wanes and darkness puts an end to our tryst. I have ached to look upon ye again, ever since I left Duncoille. That need is strengthened by the knowledge that this may be our last time together.”

Even though Margot knew he was right, she clung to him. “Nay. Ye must not speak so.”

“Nay, not today. Today is for pretty words and sweet kisses. Soon I will return to those who hold my life in their hands and ye shall return to your own home—far away from here.”

“Leave? Nay, I am staying at Duncoille. Farthing and Thomas are all the kinsmen I have left. How can ye ask me to leave them now, to flee to safety while they face danger?”

Martin sighed. “I was sure ye would answer so, but I had hoped that ye wouldnae. Ah, my sweet, wee Margot, we face a dark time. Once Arabel discovers that Sine and her brothers are still alive, the madness will truly begin. I but pray that the righteous are victorious.”

Sine frowned as she held up two lengths of lace and tried to determine which was of the better quality. She had enough coin to be choosy now, but was finding it difficult. The woman trying to sell her some lace had realized that Sine could afford a finer quality than was on display in front of her tiny cottage. Sine had found herself gently but firmly urged inside a small room that was cluttered with samples of the woman’s best work, work reserved for show to the wellborn.

As Sine picked up a third piece of lace she heard the woman usher in another lady. Sine paid no heed, despite the lacemaker’s unusually excited tone of voice, until there was a strange cry very near to her, a noise much like someone choking. A chill rippled through Sine’s body and, even as she puzzled over it, she turned toward the sound. The lace fell from her hands as she found herself staring into her mother’s eyes. A still-calm part of her mind wondered if she looked as horrified as Arabel did.

“I told ye there was a lass who resembled ye, m’lady,” the lacemaker said, her cheerful voice gaining an edge of nervousness. “I didnae think ye would take it so hard.”

“Ye are alive,” whispered Arabel, her voice hoarse.

“Aye—Mother.” Sine spat out the word as if it were some foul curse. “Your only failure, was it?”

“Curse ye to hell, how did ye survive? Ye were but a child; those bastards were no more than bairns.”

Sine ignored the snarled reference to the twins, hoping that she could continue to hide them from Arabel. “Not everyone views a child with the hate that ye do.”

Sine felt the sting of pain as she saw the fury and hate twisting her mother’s features. That angered her. She wanted to feel nothing. She had spent six long years convincing herself to feel nothing. It was infuriating to know that she had not been fully successful in that aim. Within her heart still lurked that little girl who had so often longed for the love of her beautiful mother.

Not so beautiful now, she mused as she closely studied Arabel. Her mother’s mouth was gnarled into a tight-lipped grimace of anger. Arabel’s eyes were cold, glittering, and narrowed into a fierce glare which revealed that all of Arabel’s care had not fully banished the wrinkles. It was a hard, dangerous face Sine now looked into, the face of a stranger, a murderer, and an enemy. What truly chilled Sine was how much it still resembled her own in shape and coloring.

Her close study of her mother allowed her to see Arabel’s subtle, threatening reach for her knife. Sine leapt out of the way just as Arabel lunged for her. She heard the lacemaker cry out in panic and flee her own house. Sine caught the brief glint of a blade in Arabel’s hand. She prayed that the lacemaker would raise an alarm, for, unarmed and caught within the cluttered, dim interior of the cottage, Sine did not feel sure that she could successfully fend off Arabel’s attack.

“Isnae that Blane o’er there?” asked Ligulf, frowning toward a crowd of men watching a cockfight.

Gamel abruptly stopped laughing at Sir Lesley’s somewhat crude dissertation on the attributes of the alewife’s two daughters and looked in the direction Ligulf pointed. He tensed when he recognized his squire pushing his way through the boisterous crowd, clearly looking for someone. The moment Blane glanced his way, Gamel waved to the man. When Blane immediately started to run toward them, Gamel felt the first tickle of alarm.

“Is something wrong at Duncoille?” he demanded when Blane finally reached their side.

“Nay, although there soon shall be. The Brodies are here, right here in this village.”

“Here? Why in God’s name would they be here? They cannae have learned about Sine yet and, e’en if they had, how could they ken that we would be here today? Where did ye hear this?”

“From their own mon—Martin Robertson. He sent word to Mistress Margot, for he wished to meet with her. The Brodies are here, sir. The why of it doesnae matter. I was sent to warn ye.”

After glancing around the market square and seeing no immediate sign of Sine, Gamel turned to his three brothers and Sir Lesley. “Where is Sine?”

“I last saw her talking with the lacemaker in front of that cottage o’er there,” replied Ligulf.

There was no sign of Sine anywhere near the cottage, and Gamel was about to go over there when Farthing strolled up to them. Gamel was briefly distracted by the sight of Farthing and a buxom young maid with their arms wrapped around each other’s waists. The pair looked very much like well-satisfied lovers, but Gamel knew that was impossible.

“We have to find Sine,” Gamel told Farthing. “The Brodies are here.”

Farthing swore, kissed the maid he had just spent a satisfying hour with, and shooed her away. “Then we had best find her, and quickly.”

“Ye cannae believe they would try to murder the lass here?” Sir Lesley shook his head. “The place is crowded with witnesses. They could ne’er escape hanging.”

“True, but they shall be sorely offset, mayhaps e’en flung into a panic,” Farthing replied. “There can be no guessing how they might act. Sine shouldnae be left alone.”

“She shouldnae e’en be here,” Gamel muttered as he started toward the lacemaker’s cottage. “We shall get her away with as much haste as we can,” he added, and his six companions agreed without hesitation.

Gamel came to an abrupt halt when the lacemaker came hurrying out of her house. The woman was so clearly agitated that he felt the icy grip of fear tighten around his heart. He stood, held in place by a disturbing reluctance to see what had upset the woman. Gamel watched her run toward them with a growing sense of dread.

“Oh, sirs, ’tis glad I am to see ye,” the lacemaker cried, grasping Gamel by the arm and tugging him toward her house. “The lass who came with ye may be in sore need of ye.”

“Is someone in there with her?” demanded Gamel, shaking free of his fear-induced stupor.

“Aye, m’lord. I thought ’twould be such a fine surprise. That other woman looked so much like your wee lady. Yet, when they espied each other ’twasnae surprise upon their faces. I think I may have unwittingly committed a grave wrong.”

“The young lass isnae hurt?” he asked.

“Nay, but I fear she soon may be. Ye didnae see the look upon the other woman’s face, m’lord. ’Twas the look of murder, I am certain of it.”

He set the woman aside and ran toward her house, drawing his sword as he went.

Sine neatly avoided yet another deadly lunge by Arabel. She moved so that the work-worn table was between her and her enraged mother. Her only plan was to reach the door and flee the cottage, but Arabel had so far successfully blocked her every attempt to do so.

“Ye must be mad,” Sine said as she kept a close watch upon Arabel and held herself tensed and ready to elude the next attack. “Ye willnae be able to deceive anyone into thinking ye are innocent this time. There are too many eyes here to see ye commit your crime.”

“Only that fat lacemaker saw me come in here with ye. I can shut her mouth easily enough. I had the hood of my cloak o’er my head most of the time I was outside. Those village fools can only say that they saw a woman wrapped in a rich blue cloak. ’Tisnae enough to hang me. I doubt they saw even that much, for the cockfight held most everyone’s attention. Ye will die here as ye should have died at Dorchabeinn six years ago.”

“Others now ken what ye had planned for me and why I ran away. They will speak out against ye. Aye, and many of your enemies and allies are now eager to relate your crimes.”

“Mere talk cannae hang me either. Nay, Sine Catriona, ye have seen your last sunrise. Ye will die here and then I shall have those bastards of your father’s gutted.”

Gamel stepped inside the cottage in time to hear Lady Arabel’s cold words. It took all of his strength of will not to strike the woman dead on the spot. As his companions crowded in around him, he struggled to control himself. He found it impossible to believe that the woman could really be Sine’s mother.

“If ye spill but one drop of her blood,” he said, causing both women to look his way, “I shall cut your heart out here and now, and toss it to the gamecocks to feed upon.”

“Gamel,” Sine whispered, nearly weak with relief as she hurried to his side.

He nudged her behind him so that he shielded her front while Sir Lesley shielded her back. She peered around Gamel in time to see her mother slyly tuck her dagger back into a pocket hidden in her full skirts. Sine felt a bit of a coward but firmly told herself she was acting out of common sense. Arabel had a weapon and she did not. Wisdom demanded that she try her best to escape such an unequal confrontation.

“I wasnae intending to hurt the lass,” Arabel said in her smoothest voice. “I was but overcome with emotion. Aye, and anger, for she has left me to suffer for six years believing she was dead.” Arabel held out her hands in a gesture of pleading, a soft smile curving her mouth. “Ye cannae believe that I would hurt my verra own flesh and blood.”

“Save your lies, m’lady,” Gamel snapped. “We ken all too weel what ye are.”

“Ye speak of lies but ’tis Sine Catriona who has lied, and ye have believed her without question.”

“Why persist, Arabel?” Sine shook her head. “Ye cannae believe that we are all so lack-witted.”

“Not lack-witted, simply misled. Your freedom has made ye even more disrespectful than ye were as a child. I should leave ye to your fate, but ye are my only child. So come with me. We shall return to Dorchabeinn immediately. Mayhaps there we can heal this breech between us.”

“Go with ye? Ye must be mad.” Sine harshly subdued that small child within her who so desperately wanted to believe in her pretty mother.

“I am your mother.”

“Ye were ne’er a mother to me.”

“Your opinion of how I performed my duties matters verra little. Ye are my child and the law says that ye are mine to do with as I please. My pleasure is to return ye to Dorchabeinn. ’Twill save us all a great deal of trouble if ye cease arguing with me.” Arabel glared at Gamel. “Ye, sir, shall release my daughter to me at once. I suggest ye dinnae try to impede me in taking possession of what is mine. To do otherwise could be called abduction.”

“Nay.” Gamel smiled coldly. “’Tis just a husband holding his wife firmly at his side, as is his right by law.”

“Husband?” Arabel nearly screeched the word, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “Ye are wed?”

“Aye. Sine and I were married nearly a fortnight ago.”

“Handfast, was it? That willnae hold.”

“Not handfast. We were married by a priest. She is my wife, m’lady, and I shall ne’er hand her over to ye.”

“Ye shall regret this. Her kinsmen ne’er approved this marriage. It willnae stand. I shall fight it and ye.”

“Fight away,” said Farthing. “There are many of us ready to parry any thrust ye make.”

Arabel turned her glare upon Farthing. “And now I see the purpose of your seduction of me.”

“ My seduction of ye? I but answered your invitation, an invitation cast out far and wide whilst ye were at Duncoille. While your skill at betrayal and deceit is unmatched, ye arenae the only one who can play those games.”

A hiss of rage escaped Arabel and she strode toward the door. Sine and the others quickly stepped out of the woman’s way, more to avoid her touch than out of fear. Once outside, Arabel turned and gave them all a twisted smile.

“Ye will ne’er get out of this village alive.” She hiked up her skirts and raced toward the inn at the far edge of town.

“M’lord,” the lacemaker cried as she stepped over to Gamel. “I heard what she said. She has twenty or more armed men here with her. Ye had best flee if ye can.”

“Wise words,” muttered Farthing. “The battlefield isnae a good one and the odds not on our side. I choose to retreat and fight another day.”

“Aye,” agreed Gamel. “We dinnae wish to lose the fight ere it has begun.”

“Farthing,” Sine called as, lifting her skirts, she ran toward their horses, Gamel and the other men following. “I wish to speak with ye about something Arabel said.”

“We can talk later, dearling. Save your breath for the business at hand.”

Sine decided that was good advice as they raced into the blacksmith’s stables, Gamel bellowing for their mounts and saddles. She did not think she had ever seen horses readied so swiftly. The moment their mounts were prepared, Gamel tossed her into her saddle and lightly slapped her mare’s rump.

She spurred her mount into a faster pace once she was completely clear of the stables, then glanced over her shoulder. A crowd of armed men and horses stood outside the small inn at the far end of the village. They appeared confused, their mounts restive and unbiddable, and there was a great deal of shouting going on. Sine knew she would be foolish to take what she saw at face value. Well-executed haste could look like pure confusion to anyone watching from a distance. She concentrated on keeping pace with her companions and getting back to Duncoille safely.

They were barely a mile or two outside the village when she heard the dull pounding of horses in pursuit. She gritted her teeth and concentrated on riding. It was hard, but she resisted the urge to keep looking behind her, for she knew that would only slow her down. When Duncoille’s thick walls loomed into sight, she heard Blane give a gruff, short shout. One swift peek showed her why he was so pleased. Arabel’s hired rogues were giving up, reining in and halting just out of arrow range.

When they finally reached Duncoille, Gamel shouted for the gates to be shut even as he rode through them. They all dismounted inside the bailey and the stablehands hurriedly led the horses away. Sine struggled to calm her fears and catch her breath as Gamel told the guards on the wall exactly what to watch for. She was not surprised when Lords William and Thomas hurried over, but she did wonder about the identities of the two dour-faced gentlemen with them.

“Sine, ye had best get inside,” Gamel ordered.

“Why? We are back inside Duncoille and I wish to speak with Farthing.”

“Ye can speak with Farthing later. We may yet find ourselves with a battle to fight.”

She was about to argue further when she saw Farthing nod at her. She inwardly sighed and headed to the keep. It was irritating to be ordered around, but she decided this was one of those times when it was wisest to bow to the wishes of those with greater experience. Gamel and the others in the bailey were fighting men and she was not. She would wait until the immediate danger had passed before she questioned Farthing about Arabel’s talk of seduction.

“There has been some trouble?” asked Lord Magnusson as he stood by his son. “Blane didnae arrive in time with our warning?”

“The warning wasnae wasted, Father, but the Brodies now ken that Sine is alive and just where she is. Sine had to face her mother.” Farthing shook his head. “The woman was enraged to discover that her daughter is still alive. It only added to her fury when she learned about the marriage. Arabel intended to take Sine right there.”

“And the woman’s dogs chased ye back here?”

“They were chasing us, but when Duncoille came into view, they fell back.”

Gamel nodded. “I think they hoped to run us to ground, but when that failed, they drew back to make new plans. I believe we will be safe enough for a while.”

“Ye may be safe, but he isnae,” growled one of the men who had followed Lords Thomas and William into the bailey, and he stepped forward to glare at Farthing. “I am Sir Peter MacDougal, and ye, Farthing Magnusson, owe me an accounting. Ye stole my honor whilst ye were in Perth.”

“And mine,” said the second man. “I am his cousin, David MacDougal.”

“Have I insulted ye in some manner?” Farthing asked, frowning as he struggled to recall the men.

“I dinnae consider it a compliment when a mon mounts my wife,” snapped Peter, drawing his sword.

“Or my daughter,” muttered David, also unsheathing his weapon.

Gamel hastily stepped between the two men and Farthing. “Nay, sirs, that isnae possible.”

“Nay?” Sir Peter turned his glare on Gamel. “He was sniffing ’round my wife the whole time he was in Perth.”

“Aye,” agreed David. “And he slipped away for a tryst with my lass.”

“I willnae deny that he may have done that much, sirs, but he didnae mount them.” Gamel leaned closer toward the men so that he could speak softly and keep Farthing’s tragic secret as private as possible. “He cannae mount any lass. Some mon made him pay a verra dear price for his licentiousness years ago.”

“Ye lie to protect him,” muttered Sir Peter.

“I shall let that insult pass because I ken weel that ye feel ye have been gravely wronged. Howbeit, I swear to ye that Farthing Magnusson may act the rogue, but he is no longer able to be one. If ye have truly been cuckolded, ’twas by another mon, not Farthing.”

As Gamel continued to argue with the men, he noticed that his father, Lord Thomas, and even Farthing all had amused looks on their faces. He wondered what could possibly be funny. He also wondered why he was laboring so hard to save Farthing’s hide, then answered his own question in one word—Sine. She would never forgive him if he did not at least try.