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  “Well, my lord?”

  Wat met the abbot’s steady gaze and swallowed, collecting his wits.

  “I ken fine that you are a man of your word,” the abbot said gently.

  “I am, aye,” Wat said. “I did not expect it to bring me to this pass, though.”

  “Most understandable,” the abbot said, nodding. “We can never know what God’s plan for us is. That is why a wise man takes care to think before giving his word. Thinking first can prevent one’s feeling forced to gainsay himself later.”

  Fighting down irritation at what sounded like a rebuke, albeit one he deserved, Wat said, “I must give this matter more thought, Father Abbot. In troth, I remain uncertain that marriage, any marriage just now, is the sole way to protect her ladyship. Moreover, she may well refuse such a course.”

  He saw the abbot’s gaze shift to Lady Meg and rest there.

  Glancing at her, Wat saw no reaction to that steady gaze until, rather abruptly, she stood and extended a hand to the abbot.

  “It was kind of you, your reverence, to look into Molly’s situation as you did. The matter is now much clearer to me. I’m sure it is also clear to his lordship.”

  Getting to his feet, the abbot took her hand between his two and said, “You are gey wise, m’lady, and I am ever at your beck and bay, as you know. I’ll have a word with Piers Cockburn if you like. I think he is poorly served by his priest.”

  “Forgive me, Father,” Wat said, rising to stand beside Meg. “I agree that Jonathan Graham ill becomes his post, but I’d liefer you leave him be for now.”

  The abbot cocked his head. “But, my son—”

  “Whatever I decide about the lady Molly’s protection,” Wat went on, “I must talk first with her and with her father, because we cannot continue to conceal her whereabouts from him. I will make my opinion of that forced marriage known to him, though, and will tell him she has declared it unlawful before witnesses. May I also tell him that the Kirk agrees that the marriage was illegally done?”

  “Aye, sure, and name me as ‘the Kirk’ if you like. I assure you that any honest priest will agree with me. Jonathan will get nae sympathy from the bishop or any other kirksman in Scotland, though he is welcome to try.”

  “I’ll walk out with you,” Wat said. “Do you come with us, madam?”

  “I should go to my sitting room,” Meg said with a meaningful look. “I must attend to that other matter awaiting us, unless you wish to do so yourself.”

  Interpreting those words to mean that Molly was likely impatient to learn what had happened, Wat shook his head. He had no wish for that confrontation yet. “Nay, do as you please,” he said. “I want to avoid trouble elsewhere first if I can.”

  “Then it shall be as you wish,” Meg said. “Perhaps I will walk out with you and Father Abbot, after all. Rosalie will be returning soon. As I told you, Sym took her to visit the Gledstanes at Coklaw. They are Murray cousins, you see,” she said to the abbot. “Rosalie has not seen any of them since her marriage.”

  “ ’Tis a long time then,” the abbot replied. Scanning the yard, he added, “My men stand yonder, m’lady. Prithee, do not feel obliged to walk to the gate with us. All will fall into place now as God commands.”

  They bade him farewell. Then, as they watched him approach his men, Wat murmured with a wry smile, “What you meant, Gram, was that you sent Aunt Rosalie away so she’d be less likely to quiz you about Father Abbot’s visit.”

  “True,” Meg answered, unabashed. “And you should be thanking me instead of smirking, my lad. I doubt that Rosalie’s curiosity has faded one whit over the years. But Father Abbot is waving. We must not be uncivil.”

  As she waved, she added, “Did you want me to tell Molly that the abbot agrees her marriage is unlawful, love? More important, do you mean to include me when you do discuss all of this with her?”

  Wary now, Wat gave her a speculative look. “Don’t tell me that you, too, think I must marry her.”

  “Your father did consider such a union, after all,” she replied musingly. “I think he agreed then that you were not ready. But such a marriage would have pleased him. Moreover, he believed in keeping those opposed to his views close when he could. That was better, he said, than letting them become greater enemies.”

  “Well, whatever comes of all this, I do not want to keep the Cockburn men any closer than they are now,” Wat said bluntly.

  “Then again, I say, it shall be as you wish, love. I see no sign of Rosalie or Sym so I should go to Molly now. If you fear that I may say too much…”

  “Tell her whatever you like, madam,” Wat said. “Just do not commit me to anything yet. I want to ponder the matter for a time before I decide what to do.”

  And it won’t be marriage of any sort, he added silently to himself. I’m not ready to marry yet, and when I decide that I am, I’ll choose my own wife.

  Molly sat silently, listening to Emma tell her about a small cousin who had a knack for flinging himself into the briars.

  “Me uncle Dod says he’s just like me da were as a bairn, but me da insists that he had gey more sense in his cockloft than what Wee Gibby has.”

  “Sym did have more sense than Gibby does,” Lady Meg said from the doorway, startling both young women. “Sym was then and still is one of the most sensible men I know. Young Gibby rarely thinks before coming to grief.”

  “Did me da never come to grief then?” Emma asked.

  Meg shut the door as quietly as she had opened it and without apparent effort. “I cannot say that,” she said with a twinkle. “The day I met Sym, he came to grief. Sithee, he was not yet eleven but had followed your uncle Dod and my Sir Walter straight into the briars. After they had ordered him to stay home.”

  “Aye, he would,” Emma said, nodding as if it made sense to her.

  Molly, however, was watching Meg, whose gaze shifted next to her. “Have you had your dinner, Emma,” Meg asked, still holding Molly’s gaze.

  “Aye, m’lady,” Emma said, getting quickly to her feet. “But if ye mean to stay wi’ Lady Molly, I ha’ dunamany other things t’ do.”

  “I do have some matters to discuss with her,” Meg said.

  Smiling at Molly, Emma whisked herself out of the room and shut the door carefully behind her.

  “Have the priests gone, my lady?” Molly asked.

  “They have,” Meg said. “I must tell you straightaway, though, that you are not out of the briars yet.”

  Molly sighed. “I did not suppose that I could be. Must I go home, then?”

  “Not yet. That much I can tell you with a clear conscience.”

  “What else can you tell me? What did they say?”

  “Father Jonathan insisted that he had followed your father’s orders. He said that he does not believe you were reluctant to marry Tuedy.”

  “A holy priest should not tell such lies!”

  “Nay, but he seems to think that his loyalty should be to your father, rather than to the Almighty. He fears that Piers will punish him if he admits the marriage was unlawful. He stuck to its lawfulness even in face of the abbot’s displeasure.”

  “Did the abbot say the marriage was unlawful, then?”

  “He did, aye. He agreed to support your declaration that it was.”

  “Then someone must have told him that I’m still a maiden,” Molly said, furrowing her brow.

  “I did,” Meg said.

  Molly shook her head. “I don’t understand how that can be.”

  “I said it because I believe it,” Meg said. “Tell me, Molly-lass, just what do you ken about a wife’s duties to her husband?”

  Molly frowned again, gathering her thoughts. “She bears his children and looks after his household, of course. I’m not sure what other duties she has, except,” she added with a sigh, “as Tuedy said, to obey his every command.”

  “The only uncertainty I had earlier was when you said you did not recall all that he did to you,” Meg said quietly, drawing up a stool
to sit facing Molly.

  Remembering her encounter with Tuedy, Molly felt a distinct shiver. “He touched me in places where no one had touched me before. He terrified me. All I could think about after he left was how I might get away from him, from them all.”

  “Did he take off his clothes?”

  Molly shook her head. The thought of him doing so made her throat close and her stomach churn, although she did not know why it should. She had seen naked men—her brothers, father, and occasionally one of the men-at-arms who slept on pallets in the great hall. But the thought of Tuedy naked… She winced.

  “Never mind,” Lady Meg said. “We can talk more about this another time, if you decide that you want to. I know this has been a difficult day for you. Sithee, before my wedding, I knew less than you do about a woman’s duties in her marriage. My mother told me just to obey my husband, so I did.”

  “Ay-de-mi,” Molly muttered.

  “So I thought, myself, but my husband was of a different cut from Tuedy, and I came to love him with all my heart. I also had respect for my mother’s wisdom then. I still do. Even so, if you ever do want to know exactly what happens on a normal wedding night, you need only ask me. I will tell you.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Molly said, hoping she need not. Somehow, despite her ladyship’s kindness, the thought of talking about such intimate things with her increased her stress rather than easing it.

  Meg smiled. “I think I know how you feel, but the truth is that you can talk to me about anything you like. You won’t shock or upset me, and I won’t repeat what you tell me to anyone. You have no reason to believe that or to trust me yet. I understand that, too. Moreover, I do think that when that time comes, you will know whom to ask and will feel comfortable enough to do so.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” Molly said, relaxing. “Is there anything else that I should know?”

  To her surprise, Meg made a wry face and rolled her eyes as if seeking help from heaven. Then, drawing breath, she said, “Look at me. I have just said that you can trust me, and then you ask me a question about something that the head of my family has as much as told me to keep to myself.”

  “As much as?”

  “Aye, and that’s the rub,” Meg said. “Our Walter said that I should tell you we will discuss what to do next and he will decide. However, since you have suffered quite enough from people making decisions on your account…”

  When she paused, Molly said, “Did he not intend for me to be one of those involved in that discussion?”

  “Faith, I wasn’t sure that he meant me to be involved,” Meg said. “Then, he told me I might tell you what I pleased.” Grimacing again, she added, “He said it in that tone a man uses when he means he will be displeased if you say too much.”

  “Do you fear his displeasure, madam?”

  “I don’t fear it,” Meg said thoughtfully. “The truth is that I’ve never endured it. I have seen how it can be, though. My husband had a volatile, fiery temper. He would explode, sparks would fly, and whoever got in the way of it might suffer. But my Wat’s anger, like most such fury, burned out quickly. Wat’s anger is the opposite. His is ice cold and sometimes long-lasting.”

  A shiver shot up Molly’s spine. “One would not want to anger such a man,” she murmured.

  Meg’s expression softened. “He will not lose his temper with you, dearling. Once our Wat has taken someone under his wing, that person need never fear him. He will guard you as if you were one of his sisters.”

  Molly found no reassurance in that statement. She did not want to be Wat’s sister. Nor did she want anything from him that would make her feel further obliged to him. As it was, she could never repay him for the kindness he had shown her.

  “There is one other thing that I think you should know,” Meg said. “I must warn you not to put much stock in it, because I doubt…”

  Pausing, she drew another breath and eyed Molly with unusual wariness. “Sithee, my dear, Wat evidently promised the abbot that you’d have his protection as long as you needed it. Today Father Abbot reminded him of that promise and pointed out that in your situation as it is now, with people likely knowing of your marriage to Tuedy, and then learning that you have declared it illegal…”

  “Tell me,” Molly demanded when Meg paused.

  Bluntly then, Meg said, “His reverence believes that the only sure way to protect you now, from scandal and such, is for Wat to marry you himself.”

  “Nay,” Molly said sharply. “I won’t do that. Nor would he!”

  After Meg left him in the yard, Wat went to find Tammy. “Any word yet on Gilbert Rutherford?” he demanded.

  Tam gave him a shrewd look but said mildly, “Not yet, laird. One o’ the lads did say that he’d heard o’ someone who kent someone else who kens Gil Rutherford. But I didna set much store by that. I sent a lad t’ follow yon priest and see he went straight home t’ Henderland,” Tammy added. “Father Abbot’s man said—”

  “You did the right thing,” Wat interjected. “Saddle a horse for me, Tam, and another for the lady Molly. I’m going to take her out for a while. It will be just the two of us, so have one of the lads saddle a mount for himself, too, or find Jed.”

  Tammy nodded, and Wat strode back to the great hall, where he saw Emma with one of the other maidservants. Catching Emma’s eye, he summoned her with a gesture and said, “Prithee, go and tell the lady Molly that I will take her riding, if she’d like to go. Be sure that she has a warmer cloak than the one she wore the other day to meet Lady Rosalie. I thought she looked chilly then.”

  “Aye, sure, laird,” Emma said and hurried away.

  When she had gone, Wat wondered what had possessed him and what he would do if Molly refused to go. For all he knew, she was still with Lady Meg, and heaven knew how much Meg had told her. He’d have been wiser, he decided belatedly, if he had just talked with Molly himself. At least then he could have controlled what and how much she learned.

  The abbot was right. He had not been thinking clearly for some time now. Doubtless, his father’s death had affected him more than he’d known.

  He was pacing the hall impatiently when movement from the main stairway caught his eye, and he saw Molly coming toward him. She wore the soft primrose-yellow kirtle that she had worn to meet Rosalie, and the same threadbare cloak.

  “You won’t be warm enough in that cloak,” he said.

  “Aye, sure, I will,” she said. “I wore it the other day to meet Lady Rosalie and did not feel the cold at all.”

  His lips tightened, but he did not want to argue with her. Since they needed to talk, he would be unwise to anger her before they began. Nor could he let her stir his temper.

  Accordingly, he smiled and said, “You know best, lass. I thought we might ride to a wee burn that I know, where some hardy flowers are still growing. Sithee, I think we must talk, and we can talk as well on horseback as we could inside.”

  “I’d certainly rather ride,” she said. “I was accustomed at home to walking or riding out every day. I miss having such daily exercise here.”

  “Well, you must not go out on your own,” he said flatly. “You’d likely bump bang into Tuedy or one of your brothers.”

  She raised her lovely, dark eyebrows. “I thought you said that your people always warn you of intruders on your land.”

  “They do, aye,” he admitted, remembering that she had heard all he’d said to the men searching for her that first night. “But my lads watch for raiding parties and would pay little heed to noblemen who say they are coming to visit here or crossing my land to visit someone else,” he said. “Now, come. I’ve ordered the horses saddled, and I don’t want them standing about, getting chilled.”

  “Certes, sir, but I am not the one who has kept us standing here.”

  His lips twitched. He said, “Again, you are right, lass. I’m the one at fault.”

  Molly accepted Wat’s arm and let him take her from the hall to the stairway. As he led the way down, she
admired the way he moved and the way his shoulders filled out the tan shirt beneath his sleeveless leather jack. If anyone was going to get cold… However, she had noticed before that he seemed never to heed the weather.

  Outside, he offered his forearm to her. As she rested a hand on it, a young groom emerged from the stable leading three horses.

  Recognizing one of them with pleasure as the same well-mannered sorrel she had ridden to meet Lady Rosalie, she took her hand from Wat’s arm and hurried to greet the horse. The groom made a stirrup with his hands for her, and she mounted easily. Then she watched Wat mount the well-muscled bay that he’d ridden before.

  “We will want to talk privily, Oliver,” Wat said to the groom as the lad mounted his own horse. “Be sure you keep us in sight, but stay far enough behind us so you don’t find yourself overhearing our conversation.”

  “Aye, laird, I ken that fine.”

  The tall gates opened, and within minutes the forest had swallowed Scott’s Hall behind them. Ramper and Arch ran alongside for a time but then darted into the shrubbery after imagined or scented prey until Wat whistled them back.

  Molly watched him peripherally, trying to gauge his mood without staring. He seemed perturbed, and recalling his grandame’s words to her, she decided that he must be as annoyed as she was about the abbot’s solution to her predicament.

  When he had been silent long enough to let the Hall vanish behind them, she said lightly, “If you are trying to think how to tell me that the Abbot of Melrose suggested we marry, sir, I should tell you that her ladyship has already informed me of that absurd scheme. And, as you have likely guessed, I want no part of it.”

  “You might have no choice,” he said bluntly. “I might not, either.”

  “Blethers,” she said, struggling to keep her tone light. “You don’t want to marry me any more than I want to marry you, sir. You must choose your own bride, and I strongly doubt that she will be anything like me.”

  “I made a promise to the abbot.”

  “Aye, sure, to offer me protection as long as I need it. Her ladyship told me that, too. But surely, you did not mean to take me on as a burden for life.”