She knew that. Knew also that there had been little trust between the Highlanders and the Borderers. She’d been raised to believe that the Highlanders were a breed apart from other Scots.
“Then you know that my father was a man of peace.”
“The English who raided his lands would not agree with you, lass. The man was the devil himself when his land or people were threatened.”
“Aye,” Brice added. “He wielded a sword with the best of them. But the lass means that Alastair MacAlpin argued for peace among the clans. He said it was our only weapon against the mighty English.”
“Some would call his cry for peace a cowardly act.”
Meredith’s hand balled into a fist. “What would you know about the world beyond your fortified mountains? Do you know what it is to live on the Border? To be raided constantly by hordes of English hoping to steal your flocks, your cattle, even your women?”
“More meat, my lady?” Cara stood beside her with a tray. In her eyes Meredith could read a warning.
Meredith bit down on the words that she had been about to hurl. What good would it do to goad these savages?
Without a word she filled her plate. Beside her, Brice bit back a smile. The lady was not above speaking her mind.
He marveled also at the amount of food the lady was capable of eating. Just moments ago her plate had been piled high with bread and meat. Where did such a tiny little lass put all that?
“You were blessed with a healthy appetite, my lady.”
“Mayhaps all the Borderers are taught to eat quickly, before the English can steal it,” Angus said.
She heard the thread of laughter in his tone and bristled.
“If I must remain a prisoner in your castle, my lord Campbell, then at least I shall indulge my palate.”
“By all means. Would you like some pudding?”
She shook her head a little too quickly. The thought of sticky pudding running down her gown nearly caused her to choke. “I thank you but I have had sufficient.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jamie watching her. She rolled the excess material of her gown around the food and prayed that she could escape the room without being caught.
When they were finished Brice pushed back his chair. “Angus, you will be responsible for the woman until I return.”
Meredith was careful to grasp the folds of her gown, hugging the food to her bosom. The ends of the shawl were the perfect cover. “I implore you one last time,” she said softly. “Take me with you.”
“You will remain here.” His eyes were cold, his manner implacable.
As he turned away she muttered, “You will regret that decision.”
He turned back and caught her by the arm. In that instant he felt the jolt and cursed himself for his foolishness. To touch this woman was to invite feelings that had no place in his life. Abruptly he dropped his hand to his side.
“I already regret having brought you here. But here you will stay until I decide to return you to your people.”
Meredith wondered if the trembling deep inside her was caused by his touch or by the fear of having her plot discovered.
They all looked up at the sound of horses. While Brice and Meredith stared out the window, his men took up their weapons and prepared to defend the castle.
Peering through the opening, Meredith saw a company of riders led by a dainty, auburn-tressed young woman. On her wrist perched a falcon. Behind the woman there were at least a dozen men and women in elegant dress.
Meredith glanced at Brice in time to see his grim look melt into a warm smile. What a truly handsome man he was when he was not glaring at her. She was startled by the wave of alien emotion that washed over her. Jealousy? What nonsense. How could she possibly be jealous of the effect this stranger had on Brice Campbell?
He seemed not to notice Meredith. With a laugh he motioned for his men to put away their weapons. And then, as the woman was being helped from her mount, he was rushing out the door with Jamie and the dogs at his heels. His men followed and came to attention, forming two columns on either side of Brice and the woman.
Meredith lingered only a moment longer. This was the perfect opportunity to make good her escape. While the others were occupied with their visitors, they would never notice that she had slipped away from the castle. Perhaps, if the Fates were smiling upon her, she would be miles from here before she was missed.
She hurried along the dim hallway and pushed open the door to the library. Opening the armoire she pulled out the heavy woolen cloak and filled the pockets with the bread and meat she had secreted among the folds of her gown. She slipped her arms into the sleeves of the cloak. Because it had been made to fit Brice, it engulfed her, the sleeves completely covering her hands, the hem dragging upon the floor. She pulled up the hood, covering her head and leaving her face in shadow.
She stooped and lifted the fur throw from its place of concealment, folding it over her arm. No matter what weather she encountered on her escape, this would afford more than enough protection.
She closed the armoire and crossed to the door of the library. At the sound of voices she froze in her tracks. God in heaven. The voices were coming this way. With a cry of dismay she raced across the room and pulled open the armoire. Just as the door to the room opened, she leaped into the cupboard and pulled the door shut. With the door to the armoire closed, she was in total blackness.
“I cannot believe you are here.” At the sound of Brice’s voice, Meredith gritted her teeth.
“Nor can I.” The young woman’s voice was low, with a trace of an accent.
Meredith heard the dogs sniffing at the door to the armoire.
“Why did you not send riders ahead to announce your arrival? I would have prepared a more fitting welcome.”
“I wanted to surprise you. Besides, just being here at Kinloch House is welcome enough.”
“How did you manage to slip away from your brother?”
“James has other things on his mind these days.” The sound of feminine laughter drifted across the room. “He is enamored of Agnes Keith. I hope it will soften him somewhat.”
In the armoire Meredith crouched in a most uncomfortable position. She could neither sit nor stand, but was forced to stoop. To add to her discomfort the woolen cloak was so heavy it weighted her down. The warmth from the cloak and the fur draped over her arm, combined with the heat of the fireplace, left her soaked with perspiration. And still the dogs sniffed. When would they settle down before the fire? Why had they taken this occasion to pay her any interest?
“Ah, yes. Agnes, his new bride. How do they fare?”
“At least he has someone other than me to bully.”
“Has it been terrible?” Brice’s tone was tinged with concern as he crossed the room and cuffed the hounds’ heads. “Off with you now.”
With a whimper the dogs moved away a few paces before renewing their sniffing at the armoire.
“Oh, Brice. The tales I could tell. The last days in France were worse than the torments of hell.”
“Poor Mary.” Meredith could hear the sound of footsteps and sensed that Brice had crossed the room to the woman’s side.
Peering through a crack in the door, Meredith watched as Brice drew the young woman into his arms.
“I know how much you miss Francis.”
“My darling Francois. Aye, I miss him terribly. But it is more than that. It is this place. It is so forbidding. All the gaiety, the laughter, seem to have died since I returned.” Her voice lowered. “And all because of that horrid little man who preaches fire and brimstone.”
“Ah. Knox. He has caught the ear of the people.”
“He watches and waits, Brice.”
“For what, madame?”
“For me to slip so that he can publicly humiliate me.”
There was silence in the room and Meredith watched as Brice and the young woman strolled to a window overlooking a vast expanse of forest.
The dogs di
d not follow their master. Instead, they continued sniffing at the armoire.
The heat in the tiny space was becoming unbearable. Soon, Meredith thought, she would suffocate.
“Be very careful not to offend him, Mary. He could cause you great harm.”
“I am only now learning that.” The young woman gave a deep sigh. “I long for the dancing, the singing, of France. I long to give elegant parties, to laugh, to—flirt. Oh, Brice. I am eighteen years old and no longer have a husband, nor any sort of life. It is terrible. Terrible.”
Meredith detected a note of unspoken laughter in Brice’s tone. “You are too beautiful, Mary, too full of life and laughter, to be condemned to a life alone. What man in his right mind would not lose his heart to you?”
“Did you?” It was the voice of a coquette, warm, inviting.
“You know I did. We all did while we were with you in France.”
“Oh, you. I know better. Brice Campbell, you were the only Scotsman who never let himself be swept away by the charm of France.”
“Only because I yearned for the Highlands. I feared it would be too easy to be seduced by the life you offered us.”
“Is that why you left so abruptly?”
“Aye. I had to return to my home. Or be lost.”
“Poor Brice. Has it all been worth it?”
There was silence. For long minutes the only sound Meredith could hear was the hiss of the fire. She staggered and leaned heavily against the door to the armoire. If she did not slip out of this heavy cloak soon she would faint from the heat. While she listened to the growing silence she wriggled out of the cloak. When she had managed to free one arm she sighed and began the struggle to free the other.
She was so engrossed in her struggle to free herself from the cloak she did not hear the sound of footsteps.
“So.”
The door to the armoire was yanked open, causing Meredith to fall forward into Brice’s arms. She would have slumped to the floor if he had not held her firmly.
Instantly the dogs circled around, yelping and baying.
“Why are you spying on us?” Brice’s tone was low, menacing.
Meredith’s cheeks reddened. She was mortified as she faced the haughty young woman who stared at her as if she could not believe her eyes. How she must look. Like some sort of ragged beggar. The cloak hung from one arm, dragging behind her on the floor. The fur throw was caught about her feet, threatening to trip her. Jagged scraps of bread and meat spilled from the pockets of the cloak. The hounds leaped up, snatching at the scraps and dragging them from her pockets.
At the sight Brice’s eyes narrowed. “Are you ready to explain what this is all about?”
She swallowed. She was caught. There would be no use trying to lie. “I—intended to run off while you were occupied with your guest.”
“Run off?” The young woman took a step closer, studying Meredith with open curiosity. “And why would you do that?”
“Because I’m being held here against my will,” Meredith cried.
“Brice.” The young woman turned wide eyes toward her host. “Is this lass telling the truth?”
Meredith’s heart soared. Surely this young woman would insist that Brice return her to her clan at once.
Brice continued to hold Meredith by the arm. His fingers tightened their grip. He could feel his temper rising.
“She is. This is Meredith MacAlpin.”
“Oh, how exciting. I heard about the—incident at the cathedral. You must tell me everything.” The young woman’s eyes danced with mischief. “This is so...” She spoke in rapid French for several minutes, while Brice’s eyes darkened with anger. Then, reverting to English, the young woman continued, “Such a dashing, romantic adventure. My heart fairly bursts with the thought of it. You are a devil, Brice Campbell. A rogue and a devil. And you, Meredith MacAlpin. What a thrilling story you will one day tell your grandchildren.”
“You are daft.” Meredith kicked the fur throw from her feet and shrugged out of the confining cloak. Around her feet the dogs slathered after the last of the food scraps. “I am being held captive by a barbarian and you suggest that I should faint for joy.”
At her insulting words the young woman’s laughter faded. She tilted her head at a regal angle and regarded Meredith with a look of contempt.
“You do not have permission to speak to me in that tone. Kneel at once and beg my pardon.”
Meredith’s mouth dropped open. For a moment she could scarcely believe her ears. She turned toward Brice and found him grinning. That only served to further enrage her.
“Of all the vain, arrogant, pigheaded...”
Brice’s fingers fastened upon her arm. In a tone tinged with laughter he said, “Hold your tongue, woman. Have you not yet realized who our visitor is?”
Meredith gazed upon the haughty young woman who continued to watch her through narrowed eyes.
“Kneel, Meredith,” he murmured. “And pay homage to your queen.”
“Queen?” Meredith’s throat went dry. For long moments she studied the woman. Then, with a gasp, she fell to her knees. “Oh, Majesty. Forgive me.”
She had heard the stories, of course. All of Scotland had heard that the young queen, having recently buried her husband, Francis, the Dauphin of France, had been returned to her birthplace to assume the throne.
She was kneeling before Mary, Queen of Scots.
Chapter Five
“Vain? Arrogant? Pigheaded?” The queen enunciated each word with great care.
Meredith, kneeling before her, flinched as though lashed by a whip.
“She goes too far. This time, Brice,” the queen said haughtily, “you have found a woman with a temper to match your own.”
“Aye.” He seemed not at all concerned that the queen continued to glare at the lass who knelt abjectly at her feet.
“I could have you publicly flogged for your disrespect of the queen’s person.”
Meredith lowered her head, afraid to meet the queen’s eyes.
“Would you like the flogging to take place here?” Brice inquired, struggling to hold back his laughter. He knew that the queen was far too tenderhearted to ever follow through on her threat. “Or will you have her dragged back to Edinburgh?”
“You mock your queen?” Mary arched an eyebrow and glowered at Brice.
“Nay. In fact, I will send Angus to fetch a whip from the stables.”
As Brice turned away the queen caught his arm. “Wait. You are too eager. I have thought of a better punishment for this disrespectful subject.”
Meredith braced herself for what was to come. Whatever punishment was meted out by the queen, she had certainly earned it. How could she have been so foolish as to express herself in such forceful language?
“Rise, Meredith MacAlpin, and face your queen as you learn the consequences of your actions.”
Meredith stood on trembling legs. She glanced at Brice’s face but could read nothing in his hooded gaze.
“I will give you a choice,” Queen Mary said. “A public flogging or...” She bit back the smile that twitched at the corners of her lips. “An opportunity to entertain your queen. You must relate to me and my ladies-in-waiting every detail of your—encounter with this rogue, Brice Campbell. From the first moment you saw him.”
The queen burst into laughter at the look of astonishment on Meredith’s face. Even Brice could not contain his laughter.
“That is all that you require, Majesty? A simple narrative?”
“Not simple,” the queen corrected. “Every little detail must be included. I want to know everything.” She turned to Brice. “And you, scoundrel, must leave us alone for at least an hour. This is woman’s talk, you understand. And when she has finished, your servants can provide us with a banquet before we return to Falkland.”
The queen clapped her hands, summoning the women of her hunting party. “Oh, Brice, this will be better entertainment than any poet or musician. I am greatly in need of such excitem
ent. My life has been so drab since returning from the gaiety of France.”
Brice lifted the queen’s hand to his lips before departing the room. “Your loyal subjects are most happy to oblige.” He shot Meredith a warning look. “Beware what you say in the presence of your queen. The next time you might not fare as well.”
Within minutes Meredith found herself surrounded by five women named Mary. The young monarch introduced her four closest friends, Mary Beaton, Mary Fleming, Mary Seton and Mary Livingstone. The four Maries had been with the queen since early childhood. And like all best friends, they shared everything, even their most intimate secrets.
While servants poured tea and passed around biscuits, the women arranged themselves in chairs and settles in front of the fireplace. When the servants left the room, the queen commanded Meredith to begin her story.
While the others listened in awe, Meredith detailed her father’s tragic murder and her agreement to marry Desmond MacKenzie in order to assure protection for her people.
“Those of us who live on the Border know the danger of invasion by the English.”
“My beloved cousin, Elizabeth of England,” Mary said through clenched teeth, “assures us that she is doing all she can to protect our land and people. And while she sends us messages of assurance, her soldiers continue to plunder.”
Meredith was surprised at the queen’s outburst. Was the young monarch always so outspoken? Was she not aware that even in the presence of her friends her words would not be kept secret? A queen, more than any other, must guard her thoughts carefully.
“Go on with your story,” the queen commanded.
“Did you love Desmond MacKenzie?” Mary Fleming interrupted.
“What nonsense, Flem,” the queen interjected. “What woman has ever been allowed to marry a man for love?”
Stunned by the queen’s comment, Meredith openly studied the young monarch. It was common knowledge that Mary Stuart had been betrothed to Prince Edward of England when both had been mere children. But his death had released her from that bondage. The rumors had been that she was fairly happy with the young, fragile dauphin, whom she had married at the age of fifteen. But his mother, Catherine de’ Medici, had been more than happy to be rid of the headstrong Queen of Scotland upon his untimely death.