Chapter 13
McBain, Jason, and Anaya Fortier arrived with Rose to the royal burgh of Jedburgh three days later, where she was sequestered in a remote red sandstone abbey on the banks of the Jed Water. All she knew was that Ruark was here and that her father was also in Jedburgh.
A single torch threw shadows against the stone walls as she paced the narrow confines of the room.
She was vaguely aware of the soft swish of her patterned silk gown, the pad of leather slippers on the cold stone floor, and a bodice that was too tight to be comfortable when her wont was to breathe deeply.
Rose had been taken aback when Mrs. Duff laid out the dress yesterday morning before her departure.
Rose knew nothing of ladies’ fashions, and she had not thought herself capable of loving such a dress, with its beautifully decorated skirts and beribboned underclothes.
’Twas a silly vainglorious sentiment to think a dress held the capacity to transform her into something she was not, but Ruark had been correct when he had said that she should not be a sheep when walking into the wolf’s den.
Today, she felt every inch the earl’s aristocratic daughter.
A knock sounded on the door in the other room.
She had been expecting the summons since breakfast hours ago.
She stopped her pacing. Making a determined effort to steady her breath, she seated herself upon the settee provided for the occupant’s comfort.
The worn piece of furniture that surely hailed from King James’s day was the only luxury in the sparse room that contained a table and a narrow bed.
She folded her hands in her lap in an act of forced serenity, as she heard the squeak of hinges as Anaya opened the door.
Friar Tucker stepped into the dimly lit room.
“Rose.” No one had ever been so welcome.
They met halfway. He caught her against him and pressed her cheek against his shoulder, gently holding his hand to her head. His wooden rosary rattled at his waist.
“Rose,” he whispered. “I didn’t think I’d have a chance to speak to you.”
“Do you know what is happening?”
“Aye. Someone will be arriving momentarily. We haven’t much time.”
He enclosed her hands in his much larger ones and sat with her on the settee, the action reminiscent of every other time he had sat her down for comfort’s sake. “Is Lord Roxburghe safe?” she asked. “Is he well? Have you seen him?
“Aye, lass. He is in the great hall.”
He had been gone a week. What had happened during that time? Only her imagination could guess.
“These uncertain times have put us all in jeopardy to be sure, Rose. There are those among Roxburghe’s own clan who want to use this moment as a rallying cry to continue their fight with the English.
It is enough no blood has yet been shed.
I must know, Rose.” He tightened his hold on her hands. “Did he treat you . . . well?”
She didn’t want to talk about herself when this was already too painful to bear, when she had so many questions to ask. Would her father release Jamie Kerr? But something in the tenor of Friar Tucker’s voice pulled her focus to his face. “Aye, Father. But I am ready to have done with today.”
More than anything, she hated the vulnerability that came with her next words.
’Twas Kirkland Park her father had always wanted.
Not her, she knew. Yet, some part of her, the young girl she had once been, wanted to believe he could not be the monster everyone painted.
Someone would come to her and say that ’twas all a mistake. Your memories of him are true.
“What of my father? What is he like?”
“He would foment the rift as best he could in the Kerr clan. He is not much different than he ever was when it comes to getting what he wants.”
Friar Tucker gave her a colorless, edited version of the happenings of the last few weeks, and told her how he had been summoned to Jedburgh, just as Anaya Fortier had been, to confirm her identity.
Jedburgh was between Alnwick and Stonehaven.
But it was all for show, like a spectacle with dancing bears and colorful jugglers to awe the crowd.
Friar Tucker ended by changing the topic with news about Mrs. Simpson, Sister Nessa, and Jack. “The boy misses you,” he said.
Her eyes lost their blankness and became brilliant again as she looked at him. “I would very much like to see both of them again. Will I, do you think?”
Approaching footsteps fell upon her ears. She turned her head toward the door. “Rose,” Friar Tucker rushed to say. “There is still much I have not said . . .”
The footsteps in the corridor were suddenly in front of the door. A tall man appeared in the doorway, not much younger than Ruark.
“The name is Bryce Colum, Lady Roselyn. I served with Ruark on the Black Dragon.”
Then she realized he had been one of the guards who had helped kidnap her.
He greeted Friar Tucker with a subtle nod, his blond curls brushing the broad width of his shoulders. “ ’Tis time.”
Had he meant to make it sound like he was escorting her to the gallows? Rose thought some moments later after they had left her chambers.
The stone corridor was damp and cold beneath her thin leather soles.
Though the sun slanted through tall arched windows at intervals.
Rivulets of rain streaked down the dirty glass.
Outside the cloud-laden sky was a dark gray.
To Rose, it felt like night. She had been ensconced in a windowless room since yesterday, trapped by the thick stone walls.
Yet, in spite of the cold, she felt hot and her temples throbbed.
Earlier, she had blamed the tightness in her throat on the smoke from the brazier heating the room, but she knew now it was a lie.
“You are not Scots?” she asked Mr. Colum, concentrating on the scent of rain in the air, the sound of their steps on stone in the empty corridor.
“No, my lady. I am English. My family hails from York.”
“You are a gentleman,” she said, noting his cultured voice.
He pressed a hand to his chest. “My family would wholeheartedly disagree.”
He suddenly stopped as they reached a fork in the hallway. She heard voices coming from a room at the end of the corridor.
“I am instructed to tell you that Lord Hereford has been directed not to approach you, and that you should only speak to the questions put to you. When it is done I am to take you back to your chambers. Then tomorrow morning, I am to take you from Jedburgh, where we will await instruction. Hereford has agreed to Ruark’s terms to see you safely escorted from Scotland to a place of your choosing. You will be free, my lady.”
Her hand went to her chest. Ruark had done that for her?
“You will not be in the room long,” he said.
Noting the sword hanging from a sling at his waist, she looked around the empty corridor. “Is Lord Roxburghe afraid of my father’s men or his own?”
“He is watchful of all men, especially today.”
Rose recognized the same ominous undertone she had heard in Friar Tucker’s voice. “Is Lord Roxburghe in danger from his own men?”
“Pity the man who tests him, my lady. He is well able to take care of himself.” Turning slightly, he offered a hand down the three steps.
She saw now why he had stopped. Where was her mind that she had missed seeing the stairs? Her hands were trembling.
The noise in the hall rose as two pages pushed open the heavy oak doors in front of her and Rose stepped into a tall, cavernous hall with wooden beams that stretched across the ceiling. Shock stopped her cold on the threshold.
Three or four dozen battle-hardened men, bristling with weaponry, filled the hall. Sitting around the long table and standing against the walls, all turned as the doors swung wide.
Her escort motioned for her to proceed. “My lady.”
The heavy air reeked of wood smoke and unwashed bodies.
No friendly face looked back at her from among the sea of bearded faces. Somehow, more afraid of showing fear in front of this group than she was of what awaited her, she continued to move her feet forward.
Mr. Colum stopped, and the only noise that followed was the scrape of leather soles against stone as a path opened in front of her.
Then she saw the man sitting at the head of the room. Flanked by two of his own guard, he made a single abrupt movement of his hand as if silencing those around him, like an ax that severs the head from a body. And at that moment, her courage deserted her.
She could go no farther.
He wore a cut jacket with an embossed silver waistcoat, breeches tied just below his knees, the civilized refinement a stark contrast to his reputation. She could not tell the color of his hair beneath a powdered wig queued at the nape, but his brows were blond and flecked with gray.
There was no tenderness in his gray eyes as he sat back and perched his chin upon his steepled fingers with the casual indolence one might use when studying a problem that required too much thought and one wished only to be done with it.
Rose lifted her chin in a manner that told him she cared little if he found her lacking.
But it was a lie.
Perhaps something of him was buried deep inside her after all.
For she did not understand the intensity of her emotions.
And as if reading the thought in her eyes, Richard Jerome Lancaster, the fourth earl of Hereford, the English warden and former captain in the Royal Navy smiled.
It was contrary to her one memory of him those years ago when he had put her on her first pony and told her she would one day ride like the wind.
For ’twas not a kind smile. Yet one that asserted itself in his voice as he spoke.
“Come forward out of the shadows,” he said, with the cultured arrogance of one used to obedience. At least he did her the service to stand. “Let me see you.”
A hand on her shoulder stopped her.