Part 11 (1/2)

”I always am.”

”Nay-I mean it. If the Great Harry wants a war, we'll give it to him. But until that day, I need you here.”

Skelley's eyes crinkled as he smiled beneath the fur of his beard. ”Ye ken me. Besides, I'll have Eliot.”

Alex looked skyward. ”That's what I'm afraid of.”

0=”5”5.

AFTER HIDING IN a deserted hut sitting forlorn on the seething bog of Solway Moss for several hours, Fayth finally felt it was safe to venture forth. Surely Red Alex had gone to have his wound tended or simply dropped dead. Either way, he wouldn't trouble her again for a day or two-enough time for her to cross back into England. She had to travel east through Scotland, to avoid Ridley's border lands, then head south when she hit Liddesdale to the White Lyne. There she would find herself in Musgrave lands.

Though she had never done this alone, she had no fear. No lone traveler was safe on the borders, but she was considerably less conspicuous disguised as a boy than if she traveled openly as a woman. And besides, she'd spent half her life masquerading as a boy. There was a sense of comfort and security in it, reminding her that perhaps some things didn't have to change.

She stopped for the night at a cottage. The couple was kind enough to share some gruel and hard bread with her and let her sleep in a corner. They told her they were tenants of the earl of Dornock and that his castle was due east-the direction Fayth was traveling. The earl of Dornock's daughter, Lady Anne Irvine, was betrothed to Ridley. A plan began to form, so that by the time Fayth started out again in the morning, she'd decided to stop off at the earl's castle for a brief rest before continuing on to Liddesdale.

Fayth forded the Annan and made the slow treacherous trek through the desolate moors until she came upon the earl of Dornock's lands. It was easier than Fayth had expected to get into the earl's stronghold. His castle was loosely guarded and when she asked the porter why, she was informed it was Tuesday, as if that were explanation enough. And so it was. Fayth had lost track of time, but now recalled that every Tuesday was Liddesdale market day. Fayth was pleased to hear this news, as she would have to pa.s.s through Liddesdale anyway. The bustle of the market would ensure little notice was taken of her, even with such a conspicuous mount as Bear.

The horse was a good one, but as she led him to the castle stables she noted the curious looks the horse garnered. He was too fine a steed for a lad in rags to be in possession of. He was a magnet for thieves and anyone who'd ever seen Red Alex on him would remember. The only sensible thing to do was sell him at the market and buy a lesser mount that would not draw unwanted attention. She had no wish to court more disaster. Besides, if she ever did meet up with the blackguard again, all he had to do was whistle and the horse would come running. The wh.o.r.eson likely would, too, even though the last time she'd put an arrow through him.

The vision caused her to close her eyes, forcing it away-which was most troublesome. Why should she care if she maimed or killed him? He was her enemy-the sworn enemy of her family for as long as she could remember. Maxwells and Grahams had been slaughtering each other in one of the bloodiest feuds on the border for hundreds of years. The hate went so far back most couldn't recall how it had begun. But Mona knew. The Blood Stone, she'd said, greed and l.u.s.t for the Clachan Fala began it. Pride and retribution gives it power to continue. The border officials rarely intervened, as they were more likely to find themselves in the crossfire than do any good. Even the Scots and English kings, both known for violently punis.h.i.+ng those who displeased them, chose to ignore the ancient squabbling.

At the stable, Fayth dug through Red Alex's small leather pouch until she produced a penny. He had various implements tied to his saddle: a rug, a small sack of oats, a flat metal pan for cooking the oats into bread, and a leather pouch containing coins. Fayth had already inspected them thoroughly. She gave the stable boy the penny for watching Bear and headed back into the bailey.

A few discreet questions earned her Lady Anne's whereabouts: walking in the gardens. Fayth followed the wall, staring gape-mouthed up at the enormous castle. Ridley's ambition struck her afresh. He was so very clever, much cleverer than any of them had understood. And he was rapidly gaining power and prestige. Lady Anne was a Scot and the earl's youngest daughter, but still, she was the daughter of an earl. That Ridley had aimed so high and hit the mark was a frightening prospect.

She came to a gate that blocked her way. The river entrance. Boats rowed by, into the arched opening leading to the bowels of the keep. Fayth turned back and entered the keep. She managed to locate the kitchens and there found a scullery maid willing to give her directions to the gardens. On her way out she s.n.a.t.c.hed a crust of bread. She slipped into an alcove and quickly devoured it, her stomach cramping with want for more.

When finally Fayth entered the sunny atrium at the center of the castle she paused. The flowers were in bloom around her, their colorful heads bobbing in the breeze. An interesting array, considering it was nearly autumn. There were orchids and irises, but also harebell and thistle, its spiny bulbs and purple flowers oddly charming cl.u.s.tered about the edges of shrubs and trees.

Several women in lacy gowns walked about the paths, ribbons in their hair, and hanging from the arms of fine men. Though not the daughter of an earl, Fayth was nevertheless a gentlewoman, raised on fine clothes and horses, scented baths and maids to plait her hair. She could read and write and play the lute.

And most of her life she'd eschewed it, choosing breeches and daggers to gowns and sewing. But she realized now that she'd always wanted it to be there for her, that she somehow wanted both worlds. That was impossible now.

Fayth looked down at herself. She looked like a common ragged boy. It seemed the best she could hope for was to be pawed at by a landless outlaw. Her cheeks burned as they did every time she thought of Red Alex. He hadn't hurt her and she'd shot him. She must not think of it!

”Wool gathering?” a soft voice asked. ”Care to share your thoughts?”

Fayth whirled, searching the thick bushes beside her. A girl straightened from where she crouched among the foliage. She wore a green velvet gown, once fine, but now well worn and frayed at the edges. She peeled off her leather gloves, caked with dirt, and ran the back of her hand across her forehead. Her thick dark hair was piled atop her head, mahogany curls escaping to twine against her damp cheeks.

”I'm looking for Lady Anne,” Fayth said.

The girl straightened, smiling strangely. ”Well, you've found her. In a most undignified state. My father would be appalled. I can only personally tend my garden when he is gone.”

”My lady,” Fayth said, pulling on her cap and bowing like an awkward lad. ”I have come with important information about your betrothed.”

Lady Anne became very still, gloves dangling from her pale hands.

Fayth rubbed her own roughened fingers together self-consciously. When dressed as a boy she always felt comfortable among men. Females, however, made her nervous. They were more perceptive and Fayth felt they saw through her disguise on some level.

Lady Anne scanned the garden quickly before inclining her head for Fayth to follow. She disappeared into the bushes. Fayth hurried after her. Lady Anne led her through winding trails until they came to a tiny clearing, paved with slabs of flat gray slate. A stone bench sat in the center. Faint light filtered through the branches, but it was otherwise secluded.